Lady of Fortune (69 page)

Coming from Robert, whose own ideas of décor had rarely stretched further than two clashing sets of tartan, Effie thought a judgement on Mariella‘s taste was on the strong side of arrogant. Mariella had enticingly decorated all the rooms in the house in a succession of deeper and deeper shades of pastel, with a lavish use of watered silk, braiding, and swags of the palest velvets. But Mariella was plainly pleased, because she took Robert's arm, and walked with him into the drawing-room, where their black footman Rousseau was waiting with champagne.

Alisdair was very quiet. He was still shocked by what Effie had revealed to him in the car, and he kept his eyes on Kay as if he expected her at any moment to do something miraculous, like vanish into thin air, or turn into a piece of colonial furniture. After all, how was it possible that she was actually his
daughter
– this winsome, sophisticated young American girl in the cornflower-coloured dress, with the braided-up hair and the wispy curls at the back of her neck. She spoke to him so smartly and confidently, and looked him so directly in the eye. Already, with great affection, she was calling him ‘Alisdair', yet really she should have called him ‘Daddy'.

‘How do you care for America?' Mariella asked Alisdair, as they all sat down. ‘I remember how
tall
the buildings seemed to me when I first came here, but of course they're even taller now. I hear that the Bank of Manhattan are planning on a building seventy stories high.'

Alisdair said, ‘Yes. Are they? Oh. Well, they're very tall, aren't they? The buildings, I mean. But, Manhattan Island is mostly solid rock, isn't it? The buildings must all have firm footings.'

Robert lifted a glass of champagne from the tray which Rousseau was offering around, and smiled around at everyone, particularly at Mariella. ‘If I take only one really happy memory back to Scotland with me from America, it will be simply this,' he said. ‘Being welcomed into a wonderful house by a most attractive hostess. You can keep your tall buildings. I think I'll settle for Mrs Watson.'

Everybody laughed. Mariella blushed, and said, ‘Do call me Mariella, please. If you are going to compliment me to
death, I might as well die hearing my name on your lips.'

They all laughed again.

Just at that moment, Dougal appeared from the hallway, walking awkwardly, and tugging down his white dinner-vest as he came. Effie hadn't seen him for some weeks now, and she was appalled at how he seemed to have degenerated. He looked like a man in his middle sixties, rather than a man of fifty-two. His face was bloated with fluid, and yet wrinkled too, like the dead-man's fingers inside a crab. He kept his right arm pressed against his side, and as he came across the room he shuffled with his right foot, and almost stumbled.

Robert stood up for Dougal, and so did Alisdair, but there was such a difference in the way they greeted him. Alisdair – already shaken by his discovery that Kay was his daughter, and now suddenly faced with meeting a strange, sick-looking man who didn't know that he was his father – got up clumsily, spilling some of his champagne, and looked nervously around to Effie to give him confidence.

Robert, in contrast, rose smoothly from his chair in black-suited triumph, tall and rich and overwhelming, and Effie had never seen on anyone's face such a smile of satisfaction and cruelty and malicious pleasure. He advanced on Dougal, and took Dougal's hand in both of his hands, and energetically pumped at his arm. ‘Dougal … after all these years! What a reunion this is!'

Dougal diffidently pursed his lips; trying to look Robert directly in the eye, but somehow unable to do so. He said, in a voice like scattered shreds of newspaper, ‘I'm pleased you could come. Has Mariella been looking after you all right?'

Robert wouldn't let Dougal free. ‘Looking after us?' he said, loudly and heartily, continuing to jerk Dougal's arm up and down. ‘Your lovely wife has been a paragon of hospitality; a queen!'

‘Well … good …' said Dougal, and at last managed to tug his hand away. Then, softly, ‘Hallo, Effie. Thank you for coming. I'm sorry I was abrupt with you on the telephone.'

Effie shook her head, to show that it didn't matter.

‘You'd better come and say hello to Alisdair,' said Robert. ‘My first and only boy! A Watson in the fine tradition of Watsons!'

It was obvious to Effie that this, for Robert, was the moment of greatest relish. To introduce to Dougal his own
son, without Dougal even realising it; to humiliate Dougal at last in front of his sister, and his own wife, and Alisdair; especially since Dougal was looking so broken, and so unwell; this, for Robert, was one of those moments for which he believed he had been born on earth.

Dougal and Alisdair shook hands. Robert teemed with delight. ‘We must drink to this!' he exclaimed. ‘We can't let such an historic forgathering go by without a toast!'

They all stood up now, and raised their glasses; even young Kay, who had been given a mimosa, more orange than champagne. Robert thrust his thumb into his vest-pocket, and said, ‘Here's to Watson's banks, on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, and here's to the prosperity of those who own them!'

They said, in unison, ‘Watson's,' and drank. But before could sit down, Robert put his arm around Mariella's waist, and said, ‘I want to propose one more toast. It's said with envy, and with great respect, and with affection. Here's to our hostess, who has made us feel so much at home here; and may I say that the flag of the United States of America ought to carry a forty-ninth star, to represent a lady who shines in every respect.'

Effie, anxious to break the meniscus of tension of which they now all seemed to be suspended, broke out clapping. Alisdair clapped too, and so did Kay. But Dougal did nothing but cough, and pivot slowly on one leg, and make his way across to his high-backed armchair, and sit down as heavily as a sack of meal.

Robert boomed across to him, ‘Well, my laddie, I have to say that you're not looking your best! Is it the influenza?'

Mariella, still holding Robert's arm, said, ‘Dougal's … just not too well at the moment, Robert. The doctor says he's been overdoing his work.'

Dougal, with an effort, raised his head. One of his eyes was very badly bloodshot. ‘I'm improving,' he said. ‘It's just a busy time of year for me. It hasn't helped that Effie's leaving us. She's caused me a great deal of extra work.'

‘I don't think we have to go through that again,' said Effie, quietly.

‘It's true, nevertheless,' said Dougal.

Effie said, ‘I simply have no confidence in the American stock-market, that's all. You can call it a lack of faith if you will. But I fail to see how the United States can continue to
boom when Germany is on the point of financial collapse, and the rest of Europe is suffering a terrible and continuing economic crisis. America no longer stands alone in the world. The war showed us that.'

Robert tipped down the rest of his champagne, and looked around for more. ‘Well, now,' he said, ‘let's not talk trade before dinner. Mariella – why don't you show me around this lovely house of yours? Alisdair, why don't you sit down and get to know your uncle? I expect he's got some grand stories to tell of life in America, haven't you, Dougal? Well, then!'

Effie said, ‘Kay and I will get ready for dinner. Would you like to wear your dark brown velvet dress, Kay? Or the blue?'

Robert watched with a smile as Rousseau topped up his champagne glass. Then he took Mariella's arm, and said, ‘Lead on, my dearie.' Slumped in his chair, Dougal watched them with a tangled expression of resentment and jealousy as they promenaded out of the drawing-room into the hallway; and even when Effie said something to him, it was obvious that he was still listening to their echoing voices as Mariella guided Robert through to the painting-gallery, to admire their collection of Thomas Cole landscapes.

At last, Dougal turned to Alisdair, and said, ‘You're working at the bank in Edinburgh, then, Alisdair?'

‘Mostly in Edinburgh, sir. But I spend some time in London, too.' Alisdair looked extremely pale, and Effie watched him with concern.

‘You're … older than I thought you might have been,' said Dougal. ‘I saw a photograph of you once, didn't I, in some finance paper? Quite a few years ago, I suppose?'

‘Yes, sir. That was in 1919, sir, when I was eighteen years old. It was an article about important financiers at home, with their families.'

‘Their
families
,' said Dougal, more to himself than to Alisdair. He lifted his head and stared around the huge drawing-room as if he were searching for something. ‘Well, as you can see, there are no families here. Just me, and my wife. Oh, and a great many horses. I – well, my wife mostly – breeds horses. Do you ride, Alisdair?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Good. You must remind me tomorrow, and you can ride.' Dougal lapsed into silence for a while. Effie said, ‘I think
Kay and I had better go upstairs now. Alisdair – will you be all right for a while?'

Alisdair looked distinctly unhappy about the idea of being left with Dougal, but he nodded, and said, That's all right, Aunt Effie. You go ahead.'

Dougal coughed, and then coughed again, and then noisily spat phlegm into his hankerchief. ‘I used to ride a good deal myself,' he said, with a rattling sniff. ‘I used to run, too. Ever done any running, Alisdair? Real hard running? I used to run all the way up the Scott Monument. Do you think you could do that?'

‘I don't know, sir. I try to keep fit.'

‘Hmmph,' said Dougal. He closed his eyes. Then, after a while, he opened them again, and said, ‘What do you make of it?'

‘What do I make of what, sir?'

‘Money. Banking. What else?'

Alisdair shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was acutely aware that Dougal, in spite of his age and in spite of his sickness, was almost a mirror-image of him; and he was amazed that Dougal couldn't see the resemblance too, and guess the truth. He said, ‘We're having a very difficult time of it at the moment, sir. London banking isn't anything like it must have been before the war. We've lent a little money to Australia and Canada; and father arranged a joint loan to Peru with the Banque de Caen; but so many of our debtors default, and until there's some kind of stability of currency …'

‘That's why your father wants to do business with me,' interrupted Dougal. ‘He knows that we American banks have a large share of the foreign-loan market. Latin America, South America, Europe. American banks lent the world 1.3 billion dollars in the last five years. Did you know that?'

‘I hope you're confident you're going to be repaid,' said Alisdair.

Dougal snorted. There's a boom here in America. Given time, if we can splash enough money around the world, it's going to spread to Europe, too. Good times are coming for everyone.'

Alisdair finished his champagne. Dougal was watching him, without saying a word. Alisdair gave him a brief and difficult smile, but Dougal didn't smile in return.

Five long minutes passed. Alisdair's mind seemed to seize up. He couldn't think of a single thing to say: and yet Dougal kept on staring at him, sniffing intermittently, and occasionally clearing his throat.

‘Let me give you a word of advice,' Dougal said at last.

‘Yes, sir?'

‘Never marry a foreigner.'

Alisdair said, as politely as he could, ‘You did, sir. I mean, your wife's –'

‘I know what you mean!' snapped Dougal, roughly. ‘I know
exactly
what you mean!'

They continued to sit together in silence until Robert and Mariella reappeared, both laughing. ‘What's this?' asked Robert, ‘the annual convention of Trappist monks?'

Alisdair said angrily, ‘Excuse me,' and went off to find the bathroom.

All through dinner, from stuffed Little Neck clams to sweet maple-syrup ices, the difficult charades continued. As Dougal's silent Negro footman brought them duck, and Nova Scotia salmon, and roast breasts of woodcock, Robert flirted with Mariella even more persuasively and even more relentlessly, and so openly sometimes that some of the remarks he made to her made Effie's stomach lift like going over a humpback hill in a fast car. ‘Do you know something,' he asked her, in his strong Edinburgh accent taking her hand in full view of everybody, ‘you have the kind of lips that are just weeping to be kissed.'

Kay realised that there was electricity in the air: she could sense it in her mother's voice, in the tight, over-controlled way she talked, and the way she kept trying to steer the conversation away from Mariella. She could also see that her Uncle Dougal, at the distant end of the table, was growing increasingly restless and morose, and that he was scarcely touching his dinner. Alisdair was so white in the face he looked as if he had been sick, and whenever Kay tried to
smile at him, he quickly averted his eyes.

After dinner, they sat around the drawing-room fire for a while, with champagne punch; and Effie persuaded Kay to sing
The Lilies
, and then skip a little Charleston to a gramophone record to Paul Whiteman's
Song of the Congo
. For a half hour or so, there was something that very nearly approached a warm family atmosphere: but then Robert, who had been sitting on the arm of Mariella's chair, leaned over, ostentatiously kissed her forehead and said, There, my dearie, you see what a talented niece you have?'

Effie sat up straight, ‘I think it's time we discussed a little business,' she said, sharply. ‘I won't have much time in the morning, and I want to get back to New York by mid-afternoon. Perhaps we can use your library, Dougal?'

‘Well, Effie always was a spoilsport!' complained Robert, giving Mariella an obvious and affectionate squeeze, and standing up. ‘But, I suppose we ought to get down to the brass tacks of what we're doing here. Alisdair – do you mind if you stay out of this, just at this stage?'