The Trespassers (21 page)

He took one look at it, set it down, looked at her.

“Vee, no one but you would have understood how it would please me.”

“Oh, Jas, really? Honestly, do you—I couldn’t help feeling it was a foolish idea, but it made everything seem so real.”

‘That’s what it does—you darling, you very darling, to make the network come alive right this moment.”

It was only a clock, but within the large dial of it were four smaller dials. Under one, small gold letters said,
LONDON
—
5
hours forward.
Under another,
BERLIN—
6
hours forward.
The third, Moscow—8
hours forward;
and the fourth,
HAWAII—
51/2
hours backward.

Jasper had it in his hands again, examining it, fondling it.

Just now the large dial showed it was nearly eight o‘clock in New York. The smaller dials showed nearly one in London, nearly two in Berlin, nearly four in Moscow, nearly two-thirty in Hawaii.

“Vee, you said ‘a gadget.’
This
is—this—”

“Oh, Jas, I’m so happy. I thought and thought—”

“But how ever—what made you decide on those cities? How
right—
”

“Well, they said one dial would do for London and Paris—the time’s the same there. And another for Berlin and Rome—it’s the same there, too.”

He laughed delightedly at this explanation. “Yes, darling, it is.”

“Then Moscow seemed essential, and Pacific time, too.”

“You darling, you brilliant darling. Christ, it makes me feel like a radio network, just to look at it. It makes me feel that maybe tomorrow we’ll, be on the air. What a birthday you thought up!”

“It’s wonderful that you really want it.”

“Where’d you ever find it? I’ve never seen a desk one like this. I—”

“I had a grand old clockmaker make it for you. It took a long time.”

He turned to her, took her into his arms again, kissed her his thanks. But this time, as though he were ashamed to seem moved, his mouth upon hers was violent, driving, almost angry.

Then in another moment, his mood again changed. He began to whisper to her threats of the physical, sexual violence he would do to her. This was one of the faces of their relationship, too, and she was too at ease with sex to feel or to pretend that she was embarrassed or offended. This half-felt, half-feigned bawdiness had its place, too.

After a moment, Vee shoved away from him.

“Dinner must be ready,” she said.

“The hell with dinner—let’s go to bed—”

“Jasper Crown, you are impossible. Let’s do nothing of the kind.”

“Vee—”

“No, absolutely, definitely no.”

“But I can’t help—”

There was a stir behind them.

“Dinner is served.”

Vee laughed in his face. “Thank you, Dora,” she said over her shoulder.

“O.K., O.K.,” Jasper said cheerily.

Dinner was superb. He praised everything, he exclaimed over the birthday cake, he was at once the most grateful of guests and, curiously, the most watchful of hosts as he kept her wineglass full, her cigarettes instantly lighted.

Over their coffee and brandy, they each were quite suddenly silent. They sat near each other on the sofa. Jasper stared at the face of the clock. Occasionally he took it into his hands, winding it, listening to it. Vee felt at peace. Her planning and searching and fussing over details had been worth while. The evening had pleased him, and she had arranged the evening.

“You know, Vee,” he said slowly. She looked up attentively. “I meant it when I said you are my love. I’ve never felt so right with anybody else.”

She said nothing. He reached for her hand, without looking, found it, took it in his own. He held it closely; from his tight-clasped fingers her own fingers learned that now again he was the fighter, the man of driving, restless energy. The boyish, easy happiness was gone from him now. She waited.

“I told you once that marriage isn’t really for me—what with the company—and—and especially since things are as they are about—about the other thing.”

“I know.”

“But I feel, you don’t realize it, but something in you makes me feel that you don’t
really
know—” He searched for words. She let him search. He turned his face so she could not see it.

“All I do feel is that you’d fight harder for anything else,” she said. “I can’t understand you when you’re beaten by something that may not even be true.”

“It
is
true. You’re unable to face it about me.”

“No. That’s not s. I’d face it, if it
is
true. I told you back in April, I’d heard vaguely that there’s a lot of new medical…”

“They’re quacks, half of them, and knaves.”

“Oh, Jas, that’s ridiculous, coming from a man like you. I’m not talking of quacks and villains, I’m talking of scientists. I asked Dr. Burton…”

He made a sharp gesture of impatience. He didn’t want to hear. Dr. Burton’s old, reasonable voice came back to her. “Well, maybe they don’t want children as much as they say they do.” She looked at Jas carefully.

“Jas, listen to me,” she said. “You
have
the courage to go through it again, and see whether or not it is true, or whether it was only true because ten years ago it seemed true. There’s a man named Gontlen, Dr. Martin Gontlen, he’s spent years on these things, he’s had terrific results with about thirty per cent of his cases.”

“Thirty per cent?”

“That’s a three-to-one chance against you; but that wouldn’t stop you if it was about the network.”

“Were.” But he said it absently; she knew he wasn’t joking now.

“Were. All right, don’t josh me off this. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, been holding myself back, telling myself that it’s your life and your problem—but oh, darling, when I
know
what torture it is for you to go on believing in this damn sterility that may not even be true? Can I just keep polite and silent? I don’t care, I
have
to try…”

“What’s this Dr. Gontlen’s theory, do you know?”

“It isn’t theorizing. He’s worked with thousands of actual cases. He’s found that sometimes when people can’t have children, it’s only that their systems are slowed down, sluggish, or else some minor block somewhere. And they’ve learned so much in ten years about things like thyroid and pituitary—oh, Jas, if you had low hemoglobin or a sluggish liver you’d go and get it stepped up, wouldn’t you?”

He began to pace the room. Under the strange, strong forehead, the heavy brows, his eyes were dead and cool. But the way he paced, the energy in his stride, in his closed hands, told her there was nothing remote and distant in his feelings.

“I can’t tell you how I hate all this,” he burst out at last. “The tests, the waiting, the hope, then the terrible, hideous answer, and the God-damned doctor smirking sympathy at you. I’ve been through it, and I’m not going to tear up that old wound again.”

“All right, Jas. I don’t see why you should, if it’s that tough.”

He looked at her quickly. Suspicion shone in his glance. But her face wore only a hurting because he suffered.

He came to her then, dropped down beside her, leaned his massive body over, and rested his head in her lap.

“I’ll go and see this God-damned Gontlen tomorrow,” he said. “It’s
not
too tough.” She made no comment.

“But that’s the end. If he says the same, and he will, that’s the end of it forever. I can’t stand this every five minutes—but once more can’t kill me.”

“At the worst, it can’t be any worse than it’s been these ten years, darling,” she said. She kept her voice level, forced it not to pounce on a new tone of exultation and relief. “And if the three-to- one shot should happen to work for you, it might make you very happy.”

“And you?”

“Oh, God…”

There was silence. He had promised to go tomorrow. He would go, and there would be the waiting.

Jasper stretched out his left arm, looked at his wrist watch, then at the clock. He stood up at once.

“We’re late,” he said, and the two words snipped off their talk and the birthday celebration without ado.

They took a cab to the Plaza. Jasper’s “three babies” were to meet them in the Oak Room. Vee was excited in a close, personal way at the notion of going along on so important a thing as a big meeting. It was another step of intimacy, somehow, that he should let her.

The three, in business suits, were clearly surprised to see her with him. They sprang up in unison and seemed ill at ease. As Jasper introduced Mr. Stark, Mr. Friedman, Mr. Conerhan, Vee saw each of the three eye her with special interest. She was Jasper Crown’s girl, their eyes said, and a heady pride rose in her.

“Hope you’ll excuse the way we look, Mrs. Stamford,” one of the men said, rubbing his hand over his cheeks and looking down at his tweed suit.

“Hope you’ll excuse the way
we
do,” Vee said. “Bit overdressed for a business talk, aren’t we?”

They all laughed. They ordered drinks, chatting about nothing. Then Jasper said, “Well, look here, Stark—” and the four picked up from where they’d been all afternoon. Vee sat listening, and knew soon that they were almost unaware that she was there.

She had never seen Jasper in action. Now she watched him and listened to him in a nervous fascination. He gave off the aura of being complete master of these men and she did not even know by what means he did it.

“The five per cent debentures”…“thirty thousand shares of preferred at one hundred, paying six”…“twenty per cent of the common…”

The talk was already heated. The man called Stark seemed stubborn about something, though what it was precisely had not cleared through to Vee. Conerhan seemed to differ on some point, and kept shaking his head. They turned to Friedman and he seemed irritated at both of them. Jasper alone seemed perfectly calm.

“It’s the amount of common I stick at,” Mr. Stark said. He thumped the table. “It seems pretty arbitrary, this limitation you put on your own investors.”

“Yes, that’s the sticking point for all of us.”

“I simply can’t see why—”

Jasper sat forward, his head on one side, his strong lips pursing thoughtfully.

“Look here, gentlemen,” he began in a new voice. It was patient, pleasant. “Let’s go over this once more. Here’s what it looks like.” He reached for the menu, accepted the pencil that Stark offered him. He wrote the figure $10,000,000.

The three men and Vee watched him as he paused over it, watched his pencil as it stroked and restroked the dollar sign until it was very black, very perfect.

Underneath it he wrote $2—, $3—, $5.

“That’s how it breaks down. I know this is boring by now, but let’s do it all the way through.”

“Sure, that’s the way,” Mr. Friedman said.

Jasper smiled at him.

“So it’s two thousand debentures at a thousand each—that’s two million.” His pencil nicked the $2. “It’s thirty thousand shares of preferred at a hundred each—that’s three million.” His pencil nicked the $3. “And it’s five hundred thousand of the common at ten each—that’s five million.” His pencil pointed to the $5.

“Right,” said Mr. Conerhan.

“Now, here am I,” Jasper said, and he leaned back easily. “I have a desire to start my own network. I do start it. Naturally I must control it.”

“Nobody says—”

“I have one million dollars,” Jasper continued. “I put the whole one million into this, taking as much risk as I’ll let any other single investor take.”

“I thought Mandreth, Drake, and Niles—” This was Mr. Conerhan.

“No. Nobody has more than a million.”

“But if
we’re
willing to put it all in common—” Mr. Stark interjected.

Jasper held up a hand. Vee noticed that the palm was a little dirty. Cigarette ashes, probably.

“Let’s not get back to the confusion again,” he said, asking them for co-operation, for tidy minds, for rational methods, as if he were asking for a cigarette, with no possibility of refusal. Mr. Stark sank back and smiled.

“All right. So I have a million, and no other investor is permitted to have a bigger cut than mine. That’s certainly a reasonable position for me to take. Any of you would do the same thing.”

Friedman and Conerhan nodded. Stark retrieved the pencil and began to draw linking circles on some papers in front of him.

“So far, so good. Now, you hear about this project; you get interested; Fred Willis, your lawyer, brings us together. You listen to my plans. You decide I know what I’m doing. A year ago you might have doubted me when I said flatly that it was feasible to broadcast news every day from all the major cities of Europe. You would have called me impractical, visionary. Then the Vienna crisis proved I was right.”

He spread, out his hands in the pattern of helplessness. It was a heart-warming gesture, appealing and trustable.

“First I went crazy over the Austrian thing. I really suffered about it—felt beaten at the post, before I could start. But now I see I needn’t have been so upset. They’ve dropped it again. Just because that crisis ended, they’ve dropped it. NBC broadcast only twice from Austria in April—nothing in May or June. CBS followed through well until the fake plebiscite on April tenth, then they relaxed too. They’ll both pull it again at the next crisis—kind of emergency rabbit.”

“CBS sure did a brilliant job while it lasted, though, didn’t they?” Conerhan asked admiringly.

Vee stirred. She knew how Jasper hated even to remember that. But now he only nodded graciously.

“They really did,” he said. “That first half-hour roundup was magnificent. Shirer from London, Murrow from Vienna, Huss from Berlin, Mowrer from Paris. I’m told they tried to get Gervasi from Rome, but it fell through—short-wave transmitter not available and their plans to route through Geneva flopped. I’m also told they got co-operation from everybody—PTT, EIAR, RRG—everybody.”

“What’s RRG and those others?” Vee put in, apologetically.

They all turned toward her at once. She smiled, deferring with her waiting eyes to their greater knowledge. She had listened carefully to everything, and at each moment she felt she understood perfectly. Yet the whole talk had a foreignness, as if she were listening to a political discussion in French, knowing each word but never quite sure of the whole drift or purpose of any sentence. It was actually pleasing to have one thing she could fasten on to ask a simple question about.