Bantam Books by Arthur Hailey 11 страница

living room.

"Elroy and I were with Hub. Hub was firing broadsides. It wasn't the

best time to break off and phone."

"Broadsides at you?" Like every other company wife, Erica knew that Hub

was Hubbard J. Hewitson, executive vice-president in charge of North

American automotive operations, and an industry crown prince with

tremendous power. The power included ability to raise up or break any

company executive other than the chairman of the board and president,

the only two who outranked him. Hub's exacting standards were well

known. He could be, and was, merciless to those who f ailed them.

"Partly at me," Adam said. "But mostly Hub was sounding off. He'll be

over it tomorrow." He told Erica about the Orion add-ons, and the cost,

which Adam had known would trigger the blast it had. On returning from

the proving ground to staff headquarters, Adam had reported to Elroy

Braithwaite. The Product Development vice-president decided they should

go to Hub immediately and get the fireworks over with, which was the way

it happened.

But however rough Hub Hewitson might be, he was a fair man who had

probably accepted by now the inevitability of the extra items and their

cost. Adam knew he had made the right decision

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at the proving ground, though he was still aware of tension within

himself, which the martini had eased a little, but not much.

He held out his glass f or refilling, then dropped into a chair. "It's

damn hot in here tonight. Why did you light a fire?"

He had seated himself alongside the table which held some of the flowers

which Erica had bought this afternoon. Adam pushed the flower vase aside

to make a space for his glass.

"I thought a fire might be cheerful."

He looked at her directly. "Meaning it isn't usually?"

"I didn't say that."

"Maybe you should have." Adam stood up, then moved around the room,

touching things in it, familiar things. It was an old habit, something

he did when he was restless. Erica wanted to tell him: Try touching mel

You'll get a lot more responsel

Instead she said, "Oh, there's a letter from Kirk. He wrote it to us

both. He's been made features editor of the university paper."

"Um." Adam's grunt was unenthusiastic.

"It's important to him." She could not resist adding, "As important as

when a promotion happens to you.-

Adam swung around, his back to the fire. He said harshly, "I've told you

before, I'm used to the idea of Greg being a doctor. In fact, I like it.

It's tough to quahfy, and when he does he'll be contributing-doing

something useful. But don't expect me, now or later, to be pleased about

Kirk becoming a newspaperman, or anything that happens to him on the

way."

It was a perennial topic, and now Erica wished she hadn't raised it

because they were off to a bad start. Adam's boys had had definite ideas

about their own careers, long before she came

wheels-1 27

into their lives. Just the same, in discussions afterward E'rica had

supported their choices, making clear that she was glad they were not

following Adam into the auto industry.

Later, she knew she had been unwise. The boys would have gone their own

ways in any case, so all she succeeded in doing was to make Adam bitter

because his own career, by implication, had been denigrated to his sons.

She said as mildly as she could, "Surely being a newspaper writer is

doing something useful."

He shook his head irritably. The memory of this morning's press

conference, which he liked less and less the more he thought about it,

was still with Adam. "If you saw as much of press people as I do, you

might not think so. Most of what they do is superficial, out of balance,

prejudiced when they claim impartiality, and riddled with inaccuracies.

They blame the inaccuracies on an obsession with speed, which is used

the way a cripple uses a crutch. It never seems to occur to newspaper

managements and writers that being slower, checking facts before they

storm into print, might be a better public service. What's more, they're

critics and self-appointed judges of everybody's failings except their

own."

"Some of that's true," Erica said. "But not of all newspapers or

everybody working for them."

Adam looked ready for an argument which she sensed could turn into a

quarrel. Determined to snuff it out, Erica crossed the room and took his

arm. She smiled. "Let's hope Kirk will do better than those others and

surprise you."

The physical contact, of which they had had so little lately, gave her

a sense of pleasure which, if she had her way, would be even greater

before the evening was over. She insisted, "Leave all that for another

time. I have your favorite dinner waiting."

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"Let's make it as quick as we can," Adam said. "I've some papers I want

to go over afterward, and I'd like to get to them."

Erica let go his arm and went to the kitchen, wondering if he realized

how many times he had used almost the same words in identical circum-

stances until they seemed a litany.

Adam followed her in. "Anything I can do?"

"You can put the dressing on the salad and toss it."

He did it quickly, competently as always, then saw the note about

Teresa's call from Pasadena. Adam told Erica, "You go ahead and start.

I'll see what Teresa wants."

Once Adam's sister was on the phone she seldom talked briefly, long

distance or not. "I've waited this long," Erica objected, "I don't want

to have dinner alone now. Can't you call later? It's only six o'clock

out there."

'Well, if we're really ready."

Erica had rushed. The oil-butter mix, which she had heated in the fondue

pot over the kitchen range, was ready. She carried it to the dining

room, set the pot on its stand and lit the canned heat beneath.

Everything else was on the dining table, which looked elegant.

As she brought a taper near the candles, Adam asked, "Is it worth

lighting them?"

"Yes." She lit them all.

The candlelight revealed the wine which Erica had brought in again. Adam

frowned. "I thought we were keeping that for a special occasion."

"Special like what?"

He reminded her, "The Hewitsons and Braithwaites are coming next month."

"Hub Hewitson doesn't know the difference between a Chiteau Latour and

Cold Duck, and

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couldn't care. Why can't we be special, just the two of us?"

Adam speared a piece of beef tenderloin and left it in the fondue pot

while he began his salad. At length lie said, "Why is it you never lose

a chance to take a dig at the people I work with, or the work I do?"

"Do IT'

"You know you do. You have, ever since our marriage."

"Perhaps it's because I feel as if I fight for every private moment that

we have."

But she conceded to herself: Sometimes she did throw needless slings and

arrows, just as she had a moment ago about Hub Hewitson.

She filled Adam's wineglass and said gently, "I'm sorry. What I said

about Hub was snobbish and unnecessary. If you'd like him to have

ChAteau Latour, I'll go shopping for some more." The thought occurred

to her: Maybe I can get an extra bottle or two the way I got the

perfume.

"Forget it," Adam said. "It doesn't matter."

During coffee, he excused himself and went to his upstairs study to

telephone Teresa.

-Hi there, bigshot? Where were you? Counting your stock options?"

Teresa's voice came clearly across the two thousand miles between them,

the big-sister contralto Adam remembered from their childhood long ago.

Teresa had been seven when Adam was born. Yet, for all their gap in

ages, they had always been close and, strangely, from the time Adam was

in his early teens, Teresa had sought her younger brother's advice and

often heededit.

"You know how it is, sis. I'm indispensable, which makes it hard to get

home. Sometimes I wonder how they ever started this industry without

me."

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'Ve're all proud of you," Teresa said. "The kids often talk about Uncle

Adam. They say he'll be company president someday." Another thing about

Teresa was her unconcealed pleasure at her brother's success. She had

always reacted to his progress and promotions that way, with far more

enthusiasm-he admitted reluctantly- than Erica had ever shown.

He asked, "How have you been, sis?"

"Lonely." A pause. '-fou were expecting some other answer?"

"Not really. I wondered if, by now

"Somebody else had shown up?"

"Something like that."

"A few have. I'm still not a bad-looking broad for a widow lady."

"I know that." It was true. Though she would be fifty in a year or so,

Teresa was statuesque, classically beautiful, and sexy.

"The trouble is, when you've had a man-a real one-for twenty-two years,

you start comparing others with him. They don't come out of it well."

Teresa's husband, Clyde, had been an accountant with wide-ranging

interests. He had died tragically in an airplane accident a year ago,

leaving his widow with four young children, adopted late in their

marriage. Since then, Teresa had had to make major adjustments both

psychologically and in financial management, the latter an area she had

never bothered with before.

Adam asked, "Is the money end all right?"

"I think so. But it's that I called you about. Sometimes I wish you were

closer."

Though Adam's late brother-in-law had left adequate provision for his

family, his financial aff airs had been untidy at the time of his death.

As best he could from a distance, Adam had helped Teresa unravel them.

wheels-1 31

"If you really need me," Adam said, "I can fly out f or a day or two."

"No. You're already where I need you-in Detroit. I get concerned about

that investment Clyde made in Stephensen Motors. It earns money, but it

represents a lot of capital-most of what we have-and I keep asking myself:

Should I leave it where it is, or sell out and put the money into

something safer?"

Adam already knew the background. Teresa's husband had been an auto-racing

buff who haunted tracks in Southern California, so that he came to know

many racing drivers well. One had been Smokey Stephensen, a consistent

winner over the years who, unusually for his kind, had shrewdly held on

to his prize money and eventually quit with most of his winnings intact.

Later, using his name and prestige, Smokey Stephensen obtained an auto

dealership franchise in Detroit, marketing the products of Adam's company.

Teresa's husband had gone into silent partnership with the ex-race driver

and contributed almost one-half of needed capital. The shares in the busi-

ness were now owned by Teresa who received them under Clyde's will.

"Sis, you say you're getting money from Detroit-from Stephensen?"

"Yes. I haven't the figures, though I can send them to you, and the

accountants who took over Clyde's office say it's a fair return. What

worries me is all I read about car dealerships being risky investments,

and some of them failing. If it happened to Stephensen's, the kids and I

could be in trouble."

"It can happen," Adam acknowledged. "But if you're lucky enough to have

shares in a good dealership, you might make a big mistake by pulling out."

"I realize that. Ifs why I need someone to

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advise me, someone I can trust. Adam, I hate to ask this because I know

you're working hard already. But do you think you could spend some time with

Smokey Stephensen, find out what's going on, form your own opinion about how

things look, then tell me what I ought to do? If you remember, we talked

about this once before."

"I remember. And I think I explained then, it could be a problem. Auto

companies don't allow their staff to be involved with auto dealerships.

Before I could do anything, it would have to go before the Conflict of

Interest Committee."

"Is that a big thing? Would it embarrass you?"

Adam hesitated. The answer was: It would embarrass him. To do what Teresa

asked would involve a close study of the Stephensen dealership, which

meant looking into its books and reviewing operating methods. Teresa, of

course, would provide Adam with authority from her point of view, but the

point of view of Adam's company-his employers-was something else again.

Before Adam could cozy up with a car dealer, for whatever purpose, he

would have to declare what he was doing, and why. Elroy Braithwaite would

need to know; so would Hub Hewitson, probably, and it was a safe bet that

neither would like the idea. Their reasoning would be simple. A senior

executive of Adam's status was in a position to do financial favors for

a dealer, hence the strict rules which all auto companies had about

outside business interests in this and other areas. A standing Conflict

of Interest Committee reviewed such matters, including personal

investments of company employees and their families, reported yearly on

a form resembling an income tax return. A few people who resented this put

investments in their wives' or children's

wheels-1 33

names, and kept them secret. But mostly the rules made sense, and

executives observed them.

Well, he would have to go to the committee, Adam supposed, and state his

arguments. After all, he had nothing to gain personally; he would merely

be protecting the interest of a widow and young children, which gave the

request a compassionate overtone. In fact, the more he thought about it,

the less trouble he anticipated.

"I'll see what I can work out, sis," Adam said into the telephone.

"Tomorrow I'll start things moving in the company, then it may be a week

or two before I get approval to go ahead. You do understand I can't do

anything without that?"

"Yes, I do. And the delay doesn't matter. As long as I know you're going

to be looking out for us, that's the important thing," Teresa sounded

relieved. lie could picture her now, the small concentrated frown she

had when dealing with something difficult had probably gone, replaced

by a warm smile, the kind which made a man feel good. Adam's sister was

a woman who liked to rely on a male and have him handle decisions,

though during the past year she had been forced to make an unaccustomed

number on her own.

Adam asked, "How much of the Stephensen Motors stock did Clyde have?"

"It was forty-nine percent, and I still have all of it. Clyde put up

about two hundred and forty thousand dollars. That's why I've been so

concerned."

"Was Clyde's name on the franchise?"

"No. Just Smokey Stephensen's."

He instructed, "You'd better send me all the papers, including a record

of payments you've had as dividends. Write to Stephensen, too. Tell him

he'll probably be hearing from me, and that I have your authority to go

in and look things overOkay?"

134 wheels

"I'll do all that. And thank you, Adam dear; thank you very much. Please

give my love to Erica. How is she?"

"Oh, she's fine."

Erica had cleared away their meal and was on the sofa in the living

room, feet curled beneath her, when Adam returned.

She motioned to an end table. "I made more coffee."

"Thanks." He poured a cup for himself, then went to the hallway for his

briefcase. Returning, he sank into an armchair by the fire, which had

now burned low, opened his briefcase and began to take out papers.

Erica asked, "What did Teresa want?"

In a few words Adam explained his sister's request and what he had

agreed to do.

He found Erica looking at him incredulously. 'When will you do it?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'll find time."

"But when? I want to know when."

With a trace of irritation, Adam said, "If you decide to do something,

you can always make the time."

"You don't make time." Erica's voice had an intensity which had been

lacking earlier. '-fou take the time from something or somebody else.

Won't it mean a lot of visits to that dealer? Questioning people.

Finding out about the business. I know how you do everything- always the

same way, thoroughly. So it will involve a lot of time. Well, won't it?"

He conceded, "I suppose so."

"Will it be in office time? In the daytime, during the week?"

"Probably not."

"So that leaves evenings and weekends. Car dealers are open then, aren't

they?"

wheels-135

Adam said curtly, "They don't open Sundays." "Well, hooray for that I"

Erica hadn't intended to be this way tonight. She had wanted to be

patient, understanding, loving, but suddenly bitterness swept over her.

She flared on, knowing she would do better to stop, but unable to, "Per-

haps this dealer would open on Sunday if you asked him nicely, if you

explained that you still have a little time left to spend at home with

your wife, and you'd like to do something about it, like filling it with

work."

"Listen," Adam said, "this won't be work, and I wouldn't do it if I had

the choice. It's simply for Teresa."

"How about something simply for Erica? Or would that be too much?

Waid-why not use your vacation time as well, then you could..."

"You're being silly," Adam said. He had taken the papers from his

briefcase and spread them around him in a semicircle. Like a witch's

circle on the grass, Erica thought, to be penetrated only by the

anointed, the bewitched. Even voices entering the magic circle became

distorted, misunderstood, with words and meanings twisted...

Adam was right. She was being silly. And now whimsical.

She went behind him, still conscious of the semicircle, skirting its

perimeter the way children playing games avoided lines in paving stones.

Erica put her hands lightly on Adam's shoulders, her f ace against his.

He reached up, touching one of her hands.

"I couldn't turn sis down." Adam's voice was conciliatory. "How could

I? If things had been the other way around, Clyde would have done as

much, or more, for you."

Abruptly, unexpectedly, she realized, their moods had switched. She

thought: There is a way

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into a witch's circle. Perhaps the trick was not to expect to find it, then

suddenly you did.

"I know," Erica said. "And I'm grateful it isn't the other way around."

She had a sense of reprieve from her own stupidity only seconds earlier,

an awareness of having stumbled without warning into a moment of intimacy

and tenderness. She went on softly, "It's just that sometimes I want

things between you and me to be the way they were in the beginning. I

really do see so little of you." She scratched lightly, with her

fingernails, around his ears, something she used to do but hadn't for a

long time. "I still love you." And was tempted to add, but didn't: Please,

oh please, make love to me tonightf

"I haven't changed either," Adam said. "No reason to. And I know what you

mean about the time we have. Maybe after the Orion's launched there'll be

more of it." But the last remark lacked conviction. As both of them

already knew, after Orion would be Farstar, which would probably prove

more demanding still. Involuntarily, Adam's eyes strayed back to the

papers spread out before him.

Erica told herself: Don't rush! Don't push too hard! She said, "While

you're doing that, I think I'll go for a walk. I feel like it."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

She shook her head. "You'd better finish." If he left the work now, she

knew he would either return to it late tonight or get up ridiculously

early in the morning.

Adam looked relieved.

Outside the house, Erica pulled tightly around her the suede jacket she

had slipped on, and stepped out briskly. She had a scarf wound around her

hair. The air was chilly, though the wind which had buffeted the Motor

City through the

wheels-137

day had dropped. Erica liked to walk at night. She used to in the Bahamas,

and still did here, though friends and neighbors sometimes cautioned that

she shouldn't because crime in Detroit had risen alarmingly in recent

years, and now even suburban Birmingham and Bloomfield Hillsonce

considered almost crime-free-had muggings and armed robberies.

But Erica preferred to take her chances and her walks,

Though the night was dark, with stars and moon obscured by clouds,

enough light came from the houses of Quarton Lake for Erica. to see her

way clearly. As she passed the houses, sometimes observing figures

inside, she wondered about those other families in their own

environments, their hangups, misunderstandings, conflicts, problems.

Obviously, all had some, and the difference between most was only in

degree. More to the point, she wondered: How fared the marriages inside

those other walls, compared with Adam's and her own?

A majority of the neighbors were automotive people among whom the

shedding of spouses nowadays seemed routine. American tax laws eased the

way, and many a highly paid executive had discovered he could have his

freedom by paying large alimony which cost him almost nothing. The

alimony came off the top of his salary, so that he merely paid it to his

ex-wife instead of to the government as income tax. A few people in the

industry had even done it twice.

But it was always the foundered marriages which made the news. Plenty

of the other kind existed-lasting love stories which had weathered well.

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