that kind of girl but that kind of girl
wouldn’t feel at home here. Or would she?’ Her glance flicked cynically over the living-room. ‘Rich men can make a girl so
adaptable.’
‘You married for money,’ I said before I could stop myself. ‘You should know.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, darling,’ she said without a second’s hesitation, ‘but I’m not the only one in this room who knows how
it feelsto be owned lock, stock and barrel by one of the richest men in town.’
There was a silence. Then without a word I walked into the hall and held open the front door for her.
‘You’ll call me, won’t you, as soon as there’s any news?’ she said after telling me the name of her hotel, and the question
reminded her that it was in her best interests to part from me on a friendly note. When I remained silent she somehow managed
to produce a smile and a seductive tone of voice. ‘Come on, Sam! What happened to that nice all-American boy I used to know
with the innocent smile and the Down-East accent and the cute old-fashioned manners? I’m sorry I was so bitchy – I was just
so disappointed not to talk to Vicky. I’m sure you make out just fine in your private life. All that success – all that money
– so sexy!’ She sighed, took my hand in hers and eyed me mistily. ‘We
are
friends, darling, aren’t we?’ she murmured, applying a light pressure to my palm with her fingers.
‘Why, of course, Vivienne!’ I said, matching her insincerity ounce for ounce, and finally managed to get rid of her.
I went back to my den and sat down. Presently my housekeeper knocked on the door to say that my dinner was waiting for me
on the serving-cart in the living-room, but I went on sitting on my couch in the den. Vivienne’s jibe was still drifting deeper
and deeper into my consciousness like a feather falling from a great height and for the first time in my life I was wishing
I had never met Cornelius, wishing Paul Van Zale had passed me by when I had been clipping that hedge in his garden long ago.
I could so clearly visualize the life that might have been. By this time I would be living in a new split-level house on the
outskirts of Bar Harbor, or maybe Ellsworth, but no, the sea at Bar Harbor would be nicer for the kids – for of course I would
have kids, probably four or five, and a pretty wife who was a wonderful cook, and we’d have barbecues on weekends and be friends
with all our neighbours and go to church on Sunday. There would have been no visits to Germany because naturally with my growing
family I couldn’t have afforded the trip to Europe, so I would have remained the all-American patriot, someone who had volunteered
for the army in 1941 without waiting to be drafted, someone who would have despised the German-Americans who secretly angled
for exemptions, someone who could not have conceived of a situation in which a millionaire had arranged an exemption for his
best friend by making a single phone call to someone in Washington who owed him a favour …
The doorbell rang.
Looking out of the den in surprise I found my housekeeper hovering uncertainly in the passage. ‘That’ll be Miss Vicky, Mr
Keller,’ she whispered troubled. ‘The doorman just buzzed from the lobby to say she was on her way up. He said she ran straight
past him into the elevator before he could stop her.’
‘
Miss Vicky
?’
‘Yes, sir, Miss Van Zale.’
The doorbell rang again and this time did not stop. Abandoning the den I moved swiftly past my housekeeper, crossed the hall
and pulled open the front door.
‘Vicky – Jesus Christ!’
‘Uncle Sam!’ cried Vicky as if I were the last man left on earth, and hurtled across the threshold into my arms.
Chapter Three
[1]
‘Uncle Sam, I’ve come to you because you’re the only sane person I know,’ said Vicky, clasping my hand as if it were a piton
riveted to the face of a cliff. ‘In fact you’re the only person who can
wouldn’t feel at home here. Or would she?’ Her glance flicked cynically over the living-room. ‘Rich men can make a girl so
adaptable.’
‘You married for money,’ I said before I could stop myself. ‘You should know.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, darling,’ she said without a second’s hesitation, ‘but I’m not the only one in this room who knows how
it feelsto be owned lock, stock and barrel by one of the richest men in town.’
There was a silence. Then without a word I walked into the hall and held open the front door for her.
‘You’ll call me, won’t you, as soon as there’s any news?’ she said after telling me the name of her hotel, and the question
reminded her that it was in her best interests to part from me on a friendly note. When I remained silent she somehow managed
to produce a smile and a seductive tone of voice. ‘Come on, Sam! What happened to that nice all-American boy I used to know
with the innocent smile and the Down-East accent and the cute old-fashioned manners? I’m sorry I was so bitchy – I was just
so disappointed not to talk to Vicky. I’m sure you make out just fine in your private life. All that success – all that money
– so sexy!’ She sighed, took my hand in hers and eyed me mistily. ‘We
are
friends, darling, aren’t we?’ she murmured, applying a light pressure to my palm with her fingers.
‘Why, of course, Vivienne!’ I said, matching her insincerity ounce for ounce, and finally managed to get rid of her.
I went back to my den and sat down. Presently my housekeeper knocked on the door to say that my dinner was waiting for me
on the serving-cart in the living-room, but I went on sitting on my couch in the den. Vivienne’s jibe was still drifting deeper
and deeper into my consciousness like a feather falling from a great height and for the first time in my life I was wishing
I had never met Cornelius, wishing Paul Van Zale had passed me by when I had been clipping that hedge in his garden long ago.
I could so clearly visualize the life that might have been. By this time I would be living in a new split-level house on the
outskirts of Bar Harbor, or maybe Ellsworth, but no, the sea at Bar Harbor would be nicer for the kids – for of course I would
have kids, probably four or five, and a pretty wife who was a wonderful cook, and we’d have barbecues on weekends and be friends
with all our neighbours and go to church on Sunday. There would have been no visits to Germany because naturally with my growing
family I couldn’t have afforded the trip to Europe, so I would have remained the all-American patriot, someone who had volunteered
for the army in 1941 without waiting to be drafted, someone who would have despised the German-Americans who secretly angled
for exemptions, someone who could not have conceived of a situation in which a millionaire had arranged an exemption for his
best friend by making a single phone call to someone in Washington who owed him a favour …
The doorbell rang.
Looking out of the den in surprise I found my housekeeper hovering uncertainly in the passage. ‘That’ll be Miss Vicky, Mr
Keller,’ she whispered troubled. ‘The doorman just buzzed from the lobby to say she was on her way up. He said she ran straight
past him into the elevator before he could stop her.’
‘
Miss Vicky
?’
‘Yes, sir, Miss Van Zale.’
The doorbell rang again and this time did not stop. Abandoning the den I moved swiftly past my housekeeper, crossed the hall
and pulled open the front door.
‘Vicky – Jesus Christ!’
‘Uncle Sam!’ cried Vicky as if I were the last man left on earth, and hurtled across the threshold into my arms.
Chapter Three
[1]
‘Uncle Sam, I’ve come to you because you’re the only sane person I know,’ said Vicky, clasping my hand as if it were a piton
riveted to the face of a cliff. ‘In fact you’re the only person who can
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