Part 57 (1/2)

”That's too bad,” he said aloud. Inside him there was an elation.

Suddenly Doris was staring at him. Her voice was almost a whisper. ”It's your fault!” she said accusingly.

Mark looked back at her. ”I didn't ask him to do it,” he protested defensively.

She moved quickly, impulsively. Her open palm made a cracking sound as it came in contact with his face.

His hand flew to his cheek instinctively. Her slap hadn't hurt, but he could feel his face tingling with shame. He looked at her.

She stared back at him. The tears were rus.h.i.+ng to her eyes. ”That's for Johnny,” she said fiercely. Her voice began to falter. ”He's lost everything he ever had because of you! You-you louse!” She turned from him and fled from the room, a handkerchief pressed close to her eyes.

12.

Peter's face was drawn and tired as he stood by the window looking down in the Plaza. The big Christmas tree was up and glittering with a thousand lights. The ice in the rink had turned a creamy ivory color in the light from the tree, and the few skaters that were on it moved lazily and gracefully. It was almost six o'clock and crowds of people were hurrying homeward.

Another million dollars had gone into the company from Peter's pocket when Danvere had refused to advance him the money. He had to do it. Cash had run perilously low.

Wearily he walked back to his desk and looked down at the Teletype message that lay on it. The final version of United We Stand was at last ready for screening. They were going to sneak preview it at a small theater in the suburbs of Los Angeles tomorrow.

He sat down in his chair and closed his eyes. He wished he were home. It was almost six months since he had been home, but business had kept him in New York. There was so much to do. Thank G.o.d at least that he didn't have to worry about the studio. Mark was a good boy. You could depend on your own flesh and blood where you couldn't on anyone else.

He straightened up in his chair and looked out the window. If it only hadn't been such a rotten winter he would have had Esther join him in New York. It wouldn't seem so bad then. But he couldn't ask her to do it. Her arthritis would have made her miserable.

The door opened and a man stood there smiling. ”Mr. Kessler?” he asked, a curious look on his face.

Peter looked at him. He didn't know him. How did he get there without going through his secretary's office? That was his private door. Usually no one entered by it except himself. ”Yes,” he answered in a tired voice.

The man came into the office and walked toward him. He took a piece of paper from his inside coat pocket and laid it on the desk in front of Peter. A smile flashed across his face and was gone in a moment. ”Merry Christmas,” he said and, turning, hurried back out the door and closed it behind him.

Peter leaned forward slowly and picked up the paper. He looked after the man. What was the matter with him? He acted as if he were crazy. Peter looked down at the paper in his hand. There was a word printed across the back of it in big black letters: SUMMONS.

The meaning of the word did not penetrate his tired mind at once. He opened it dully and began to read. Suddenly he came to life. His face grew flushed and excited and he sprang from his chair and ran to the door and opened it. He looked out, but the man was nowhere in sight. The hall was empty.

He closed the door and crossed his office into Johnny's. Johnny was dictating a letter to Jane and they looked up at him startled as the door opened. Peter hadn't come in that way in a long time.

Peter's face was almost purple as he angrily stamped his way to Johnny's desk and flung the paper down on it. ”Read that,” he said in a strangled choking voice, ”and see what your friends have done!”

The city outside the window behind Peter was ablaze with electric light. The lawyer sat opposite him and slowly tapped the folded paper with his fingers. He looked at Peter solemnly.

”As I see it, Peter,” he said slowly, ”the gist of their whole case is this one picture, United We Stand. There are other charges-incompetence, peculation, mismanagement-but they are vague and difficult to substantiate. If this picture turns out to be good they have no real case, because then it becomes a matter of judgment, yours against theirs. If the picture is not, then it's another matter, a more difficult case. Then you have to fight it in the stockholders' meetings. There are many things you can do there to delay and protract matters almost indefinitely. That is, as long as you control enough votes to give you a majority?”

Peter nodded his head. ”I got enough votes to do that,” he said confidently. Between him and Johnny they had fifty-five percent of the stock.

”Then the only thing we have to worry about is the picture,” the lawyer replied. He looked at Peter. ”Is it any good?” he asked.

”I don't know,” Peter admitted honestly. ”I ain't seen it yet.”

”It would be a help if we did know,” the lawyer said reflectively. ”Then we would know just where we stand.”

Peter looked at him. ”We should know the day after tomorrow. We're sneaking it out in Los Angeles.” He paused, struck by a sudden thought. ”I'll fly out there and see it myself. We'll know for sure that way.”

”That might be a good idea,” the lawyer agreed. He looked at his watch. ”You'll be on the plane all night.”

”So I'll be on the plane all night,” Peter said quickly. ”But at least this way I'll be ready for the besteds at the next board meeting.”

”When is that?” the lawyer asked.

”Next week,” Peter replied. ”Wednesday.” There wouldn't be time to let Esther know he was on his way home, but it didn't make much difference anyway. He would be there late in the afternoon.

Dulcie's voice was merry on the phone. ”Of course I'm coming to the preview, Mark.” She laughed. ”I wouldn't miss it for anything!”

He smiled into the phone. ”I'll pick you up at six thirty?” he asked.

”Yes,” she answered. ”We'll have dinner at my place and then go right to the show.”

”That's fine,” he said, still smiling, ”just fine.” He hung up the phone and wheeled around in his chair, whistling. Maybe now that the picture was finished she would listen to reason.

13.

Peter burst into the house just as they were sitting down to dinner. He stood there in the entrance to the dining room, his face flushed with the exertion of running up the steps to the house. He had landed in Los Angeles less than an hour ago.

Esther rose from the table quickly with a welcoming cry. In a moment she was in his arms. She kissed him. ”Peter, you're home! I can't believe it!”

A suspicious moisture came to his eyes as he looked down at her. Her head was against his breast; her hair was still rich and darkly l.u.s.trous despite the gray in it. ”Nu, Mama,” he said gruffly, ”you see I'm home.”

Doris was on the other side of him. She kissed his cheek. ”h.e.l.lo, Papa,” she whispered against his ear. ”I had a hunch you'd be home for the holidays.”

With his arm still around Esther he walked to the table. It was good to be home. Sometimes he wondered whether the business was worth all it took out of you. Your time was never your own. And he had been away more than six months. He looked around the room. ”Where's Mark?” he asked in a puzzled voice.

”He's having dinner out,” Doris answered.

He looked at her as if he had not understood her. ”Out?” he repeated questioningly.

Esther looked up at him and nodded her head. ”He said he had some important business to attend to.”