Why, oh why, do we make choices that we do? Or why does life make them? Why had he married Celia? Why had she become insane? Why did he still hold back from the catharsis of divorce? Why did Margot need to be an activist? Why would he consider losing Margot now! How much did he want to be president of FMA? Not that muchl
He made a forceful, self-controlled decision and thrust his gloom away. The hell with it all, Not for FMA, 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 his 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 Friday."
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 statements, 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, your kind of business that he attends to personally."
It was unnecessary for either of them to identify "Big George." For that matter, few others in industry, banking, or public life would have needed to.
G. G. Quartermain, board chairman and chief executive of Supranational Corporation,SuNatCo 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 debt 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 Honorable Harold reported to Quartermain 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 reader and delivered the lesson, clearly 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 Heyward, the Bahamas excursion was 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 majordomo said.
Heyward nodded, but scarcely noticed the man, his attention being distracted by the women breathtakingly beautiful girls in their twenties who were smiling agreeably. It occurred to Roscoe Heyward that the Quartermain 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 Avril. 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."