Nantucket (9 page)

“Be fair to yourself,” said Andrew. “People say you're a visionary too.” And remembering Rosemary's advice, he added. “The
Financial Times
called you a ‘magician.'”

“That was kind of them, wasn't it,” said the Indian. “But the problem is, Andrew, I cannot any longer do all the things I think of doing, the things I wish to do. I barely do the things I am
required
to do.

“I'm fifty-two. That isn't old, but it isn't young. I had a strenuous youth. I played polo – if you can believe it, looking at me now. I was fairly good at it. That and my family's name opened a lot of doors. I pursued movie stars. I lost money in casinos. For a while, I lived a glamorous life. Then, inconveniently, my father died and I had to become responsible. In order to appear mature, I started reading – always a dangerous habit – I stopped gambling, made new friends, realised that a man in my position cannot have friends, stopped drinking, studied finance. I had to do that last bit in secret, you understand. A magician is supposed to just…
know
things.”

“Prospero had his books,” said Andrew, “which he studied.”

“You must have been talking to Rosemary,” said Shiva.

“Why do you say that?”

“You
called me
Prospero. She knows I like that. But never mind. The point is that I have been on stage for a very long time.
A vast audience watches me. India watches me. Hundreds of thousands of employees depend on me. That sort of attention is difficult to sustain.

“I have a strenuous family. Children by an earlier wife. One needs heirs, and they have to be brown, I think. Nice boys, whom I do not know as well as I should. I can only hope they do not turn out like my brothers. Half-brothers, that is, by my father's subsequent wives.

“And then of course there is Rosemary. Who has read all of Shakespeare. Who is fifteen years younger than I am. Whom I cannot fully satisfy – to my great regret. She is definitely strenuous.”

Andrew was of course desperate to ask Shiva whether he and Joe could be partners. But he didn't. People tell you things when they are ready to, he'd found.

6

Lunch was strenuous too. The landline rang right after they'd all sat down. Andrew hurried into the kitchen, feeling sick. Four hours earlier he'd been unfaithful to Cathy for the first time in his marriage, and now she was calling to tell him about Eleanor. Their daughter was probably fine, and telling Cathy she needn't have come, but his wife would need reassurance, and perhaps advice. He wouldn't be able to provide it. He couldn't afford to be away from the table very long. He mustn't be overheard. He couldn't stop thinking about Rosemary's perfect body.

It wasn't Cathy. It was the Governor of Massachusetts. “Andrew, my old friend, I need your help.” They
were
old friends, actually. They had vomited on the same Cambridge sidewalks when they were freshmen. They'd witnessed each other's failures. “I'm here on Nantucket and it turns out Lydia is getting back from California a week early. She thinks her mother is dying. She probably
is
dying. We all are, if you think about it. But the old bird is taking her time about it. She told Lydia to go back to the East Coast. She says it's ghoulish of her children to sit around waiting for her to die.
So Lydia will be here in a few hours.”

“That all sounds like good news,” said Andrew hopefully.

“Well, in theory it is. But I'd brought someone to the house for the weekend.”

“A female someone?”

“Two of them, actually, which I'd hoped would be less incriminating. They're on my staff. Smart girls. Hard workers. Bit of a reward.”

“They wouldn't by any chance happen to be gorgeous?”

“One of them is. Well, probably both. Judy is certainly attractive. I just can't think of her that way. Small and dark – Italian mother – very smart and very sweet. Too intense for me. I prefer Janis. She's the red-head. But I haven't, you know…I'm too old for that. I just like people to think I'm not. So anyway, I need a place to stash them. If Cathy would be prepared to invite them to stay it would avoid unpleasantness. Lydia sounds pretty strung out from dealing with her mother. She doesn't need any long explanations. Never been good at them. You have a lot of bedrooms, as I remember it.”

“Some of them are occupied this weekend.”

“Perfect. It will look like they're friends of your daughters.”

“Uh…”

“Thanks, Andrew. I'll bring them over in the next two hours.”

The Governor of Massachusetts hung up. Andrew stared at the receiver for a moment and then replaced it in the cradle. George always got what he wanted. If you were going to be his friend, you had to accept that. Or his wife, Andrew supposed. If you were going to be his wife, that is. Or his mistress.

George might or might not have stopped fooling around, but there had always been plenty of candidates for his attention.
“I'm interviewing a new applicant,” was the way he'd put it when they were undergraduates and he was taking a girl to New York. “Sex is better out of town,” he claimed. “You fly down from Boston. You act really cool on the plane – like it was an accident you were sitting next to each other. You tell her that's in case you run into somebody one of you knows. You check into your hotel but then right away you go out to lunch, walk in Central Park, maybe visit a museum, let the afternoon trickle away. And all the time there's this double bed waiting for you in the hotel, which she can't stop thinking about…”

Andrew had just gotten back to the table when his mobile phone rang. He'd finally remembered to put it in his pocket. He apologised to his guests and went into the kitchen to talk. It was a man's voice, but not George. “Andrew?”

“Yes.”

“Peter here. Where are you?”

“Nantucket.”

“Ah. Look, I just happened to be in the office to get some papers, and – I won't beat around the bush – did you know they're moving your office?”

Andrew didn't reply.

“I'll take that for a ‘no.' You don't need to answer. Anyway, they are. We evidently need more conference rooms. A few of us are moving to twenty-six. A kick in the balls, of course, but it's not a bad set-up. I was told Thursday, so I've told them how I want the furniture arranged. The offices are almost the same size, but there isn't room for all my pictures. I talked to the guys who are doing the moving. Did you realise there are people whose entire career consists of moving bankers to different offices whenever they reorganise us here? Anyway, they said, quote, ‘we ain't got no instructions about this other office.' So
unless you talk to them right away, when you come in Monday, your new office is going to look like you're holding a garage sale.” He paused. “Sorry. You were probably having a nice weekend out on Nantucket. I thought you'd be at the outing, actually. I liked it when you had Mary and me to Nantucket for the weekend one time. Anyway, I thought you'd want to know. I'll text you the guy's mobile number, the one who's running the move.”

“Thanks.” What shits. He'd been in the office on Thursday and most of Friday. They could have told him about the move. And he and Cathy were supposed to be charming the Ellises while it was happening.

Andrew went back to the dining room. He couldn't possibly deal with the men who spent their lives moving bankers from floor to floor. He didn't know what to say to his guests, so he didn't say anything. He tried eating but the food had no flavour. It was possible he needed to throw up.

“Business?” said Rosemary.

“It isn't usually this bad,” said Sally.

“Nice to be wanted,” said Shiva.

“I suppose,” said Andrew.

The land line rang again. Andrew went back to the kitchen.
This
would probably be Cathy. It was the Governor. “Listen, I've got to bring them over right now. Lydia caught an earlier plane. Please apologise to Cathy, but I won't even have time to come in.” That at least would be helpful.

Andrew went back to the dining room. “Small change of plans,” he said.

To be honest, it suddenly felt like a major change of plans. Or a change in the weather. If he'd been in a conference room, doing a deal, he could have said exactly what difference it made
to have someone new at the table. He would have known what to say to his client, what to warn him about, what
quid quo pro
to suggest. But he wasn't playing for money, he was playing for his life, which can make it harder to see matters clearly. He wouldn't have said that a moment earlier – the melodramatic bit about playing for his life, that is – but the phrase having come into his head, he thought it had validity. His old friend George represented youthful dreams. When such ghosts come on stage in an opera, the music changes.

“It shouldn't be a problem,” he continued, “but we have some more people staying. My friend George is a bit overcommitted socially. We have extra bedrooms. I haven't met the young women but he says they're well brought-up.”

Shiva began to laugh. “You're talking about the Governor?”

“We went to school together. We're friends. That is, if politicians have friends.”

“Can I help you make beds?' said Rosemary to Sally.

“Let's find out what the, ah, sleeping arrangements will be first,” said Sally. “There's one more proper bedroom and then a bunk room that can take eight.”

“We could
all
sleep there,” said Shiva. He seemed to find the situation amusing. “It would be like summer camp. I went to a summer camp in Maine when my uncle was at the United Nations. Eight little boys per cabin.”

“Who are these people who are crashing our party?” said Cynthia. She was evidently not amused. Interesting that she thought it was her party. Rosemary would probably tell him that Cynthia thought every party was about her. “Are we talking quote interns here, or full-fledged bimbos?” said Cynthia. “Do we let them join us for dinner?”

“We're going to need more food,” said Sally.

“They work for the Governor,” said Andrew. “He's a political rock star – as you would know, Cynthia. You'll probably find they're former Supreme Court clerks.”

“Look, I actually know the Governor,” said Cynthia. “He has a bit of a reputation.”

“Agreed,” said Andrew, standing up. It occurred to him that perhaps Cynthia was feeling uncomfortable about having shed her top earlier, and in unconscious reaction was turning prudish. Or maybe she and the Governor had some history.

All those trips to New York. And if a girl was a “finalist,” as he put it, he'd take her to Nantucket in the off season. His family had a house, which had passed to George. “Nantucket in late autumn is extremely out of town,” he liked to say. “You go for a walk on the beach, you come in and light the fire. They usually like the house.”

What he meant about the house was that it was rather grand, and reminded an “applicant” that George came from a very old family, which it would be comfortable and gratifying to be part of. Not that he planned to give her membership.

“So much more reason to be polite to these young women,” said Rosemary, briefly interrupting Andrew's reverie.

George seemed to specialise in girls who
weren't
named “Cabot” or “Adams,” or something equally famous, but definitely knew what those names meant. Andrew had pointed this out to him once. They were good enough friends for him to do so.

“Of course I do,” George had said. “If you want to get what you want, Andrew, you need to use every bit of leverage you have.” They were both nineteen then, and Andrew was still a virgin.

“I suppose that's how politicians think,” Andrew had said.
They both knew George planned to run for Congress as soon as he could.

Whatever the reason, Cynthia seemed to find the prospective intrusion of these two young women who worked for the Governor annoying. “Supreme Court clerks, my ass,” she said. Perhaps what bothered Cynthia wasn't propriety but simply the introduction of new variables into the situation. She wanted to be in control and this would make it harder.

Andrew watched Rosemary watching Cynthia, and Shiva watching them both. He finds them amusing, Andrew said to himself, but not necessarily desirable. What in the world do I do about that? Do I need to do anything?

“Andrew,” said Shiva, standing up, “let me be helpful. If you'll give me the keys to your car, Cynthia and I will go buy some more lobsters.”

“The lobster man has probably run out by now,” said Sally.

“Steaks, then,” said Shiva.

“I thought you people didn't eat beef,” said Joe.

“I don't, and if Andrew's surprise visitors are my coreligionists, we have a provisions problem.” Shiva interrupted himself with an undignified giggle. “But if I know anything about the Governor, these orphans he is depositing on our doorstep will have long legs, blue eyes and American passports. So steak it is.”

“How do you know the Governor of Massachusetts?” said Joe.

“I met all kinds of people when I was a younger man,” said Shiva. “We had a few narrow escapes together.”

“Why do I have to go buy groceries for people we don't even know?” said Cynthia.

“I do it all the time,” said Sally, and then covered her
mouth in mock embarrassment. Andrew didn't think Cynthia had heard her, which was fortunate. He supposed Sally was trying to cheer him up. She'd clearly amused Shiva, who laughed briefly and then went deadpan.

“Narrow escapes” was another of George's expressions. It meant “I thought I was in love but I came to my senses,” or “Her mother had plans,” or “For a week there, it looked like she was pregnant.”

Andrew had missed the year George grew up. They were in their mid-twenties. He and Cathy were living in Brooklyn with baby Eleanor. There wasn't any money. George was going to law school and as he put it later, “working hard for the first time.” He'd evidently gotten a girl pregnant. She wasn't a typical “applicant.” He'd “lost focus,” as he put it. He'd wanted her to get an abortion. She wouldn't. But she wouldn't tell her parents who the father was, either. And she wouldn't take any money.