To Save a Son (42 page)

Maria was already there. There was a central hallway, with four doors leading off, and she was to the left, in what appeared to be the largest room. She was sitting nervously on the very edge of the couch and as he entered she got up, started toward him and then stopped, uncertain.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello.”

“I got here about an hour ago.”

“Yes.”

“Was it bad?”

“Not really,” said Franks. “Tina is being very controlled about the whole thing. It wasn't very easy with the children.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I was going away for a long time on business,” said Franks. He looked around the room and said, “Is there a drink anywhere?”

Appearing glad of the activity, Maria went to a side cupboard and poured the gin, taking one for herself, too. “That leaves Tina to tell them?” she said as she handed him the glass.

“Maybe it's better that they hear it from her,” said Franks, irked by the unspoken accusation. “What happened at the Scargos'?”

Now it was Maria's turn to be awkward. “I didn't tell them anything,” she said. “I just told Mamma that I had to get away; let her think it was something to do with Nicky's death.”

He smiled sadly at her. “We're both a couple of cowards, aren't we?” he said.

She smiled back. “Seems like it,” she said.

“Where are your bags?”

“Upstairs.”

“You've already chosen our room then?”

“Our
room?”

“Isn't it going to be?” he frowned.

“I wanted to hear you say it.”

“Nervous?”

“Very,” she nodded. “Silly, isn't it? I didn't feel scared at Scarsdale, but now I do.”

Knowing that he should—that he should have the moment he came into the houses—Franks went to her, and took the glass from her so that she wouldn't spill it, and kissed her. She kissed him back urgently, clutching her arms around his waist. He could feel her shaking and ran his hand through her hair, and said, “Okay. It's all going to be okay.”

“I know it is,” she said, trying hard. “I know it is.”

He was a refugee again, thought Franks. He'd imagined—hopefully—that the attitude had left him forever, but it came suddenly and was as positive as it had been that day on the New York dockside and then back again, in Southampton, meeting a father he'd never known nor learned how to know. More positively, in fact. He felt more completely alone and abandoned than he ever remembered feeling before, and it frightened him, so that he physically shivered. Maria felt it and pulled away, frowning up into his face.

“What is it?” she said.

“Nothing.”

“You shivered.”

“It was nothing.”

She remained doubtful, looking up at him expectantly. He said, “Do we look after ourselves here?”

“It seems like it,” said Maria. “I've found the kitchen. The refrigerator's stocked.”

“Looks like you're making supper then,” said Franks, seeking an escape.

“You sure you're okay?”

“Positive.”

“I don't want you to say it back—I told you that before—but I think I love you, Eddie Franks,” she said.

“I think I love you, too.”

“You didn't have to say it.”

“I wanted to.”

“I wanted you to.”

That night and the days that followed provided the first release—a relaxation—for what seemed to Franks to be years. He established telephone contact with Rosenberg and through the New York attorney attempted arm's-length control of the European businesses—frustrated that he couldn't do more—but that was his only irritation. There was the aphrodisiac of the illicit about his relationship with Maria, but he thought it went beyond that, to something more. Maria never criticized—never questioned him—but was content to listen and understand. He told her about the arrangements he had made to protect the European businesses and how he hoped everything would be over in time for him to be able to solve the difficulties personally. Objectively, she suggested that the bacillus attack and the ship sabotage and the union disruptions might have been created precisely to achieve that: his appearance in an unguarded situation. They spent evenings entwined watching television or listening to music and during the day explored the expansive grounds of the CIA installation. During the third week Franks made the demand to Tomkiss, who said he'd have to get higher clearance, which was given, so they were allowed out of the enclosure and wandered along the Esopus and through Stony Hollow into the mountain foothills. There was always an escort of FBI agents and marshals, but Franks found that in Maria's company he was able to forget them, as she appeared to be. He confessed to her the contests that Enrico set him and Nicky, and pointed out Slide Mountain and actually tried to find the slurry slip, although he didn't succeed. They made love every day and often more than once, on the couch in front of the television or actually going to bed in the afternoon. Maria was completely uninhibited, and at her urging he did things with her he would have never considered with Tina. Realizing how highly sexed she was, Franks was astonished she'd remained faithful as long as she had to the unresponsive Nicky.

He held back from attempting any direct telephone contact with Tina, instead asking Rosenberg to arrange any maintenance that she might need. Tina's initial reaction was that she didn't want any support, but Rosenberg persuaded her to engage a lawyer of her own and in consultation with him created an agreement. As well as an interim financial settlement Franks drew from Switzerland, he also made the Scarsdale house over to her in its entirety, the only condition being that she retain the necessary votes that maintained his control in the European shareholding. Tina agreed at once.

Rosenberg argued against overgenerosity, but Franks was insistent. He inquired through the lawyer whether Tina wanted to keep the Henley house in England, and when she said she didn't, instructed the lawyer to place it on the market. Although she said she didn't want to know, because she considered it none of her business, Franks discussed everything with Maria. On each occasion when they talked about it Maria listened but said very little, careful never to judge what he was doing, even when he asked her for her opinion.

The trial was set for the last week in July. There were fresh journeys, alone, into Manhattan, for revision and reconsideration of the evidence. Franks used the trips to see Rosenberg as well, and on the last one learned of Podmore's assessment of the year's trading prospects. In Italy the business was expected to show a drop of seventy-five percent on the previous year, and two hotels were still so polluted that the health authorities were considering their permanent closure. Trading in Spain was down by forty percent and in France by thirty. Overall, their current year's business was reduced by fifty percent and the forecast for the following year, unless there was some way of restoring public confidence, was that the decline would exceed that. Repairing the liner, which had taken three months to settle with the insurance company, was being delayed by industrial disputes in the Amsterdam shipyard, and effectively the vessel's trading potential had to be dismissed for the entire year. Profit forecast, before tax, would certainly show a reduction of four million pounds from the previous year, and the possibility was that the drop would be even greater. If so, then it would be necessary to go into reserves to finance the advertising and refurbishing necessary for the next year. Podmore's covering letter reminded Franks of the time limit that had been agreed for his returning to England to resume control. Franks instructed the American lawyer to reply that he was fully aware of the timing and would be back, as he had undertaken to be.

“You can't promise that,” said Rosenberg. “For God's sake, Eddie, when are you going to recognize, after all that's happened, the precautions you're going to have to take?”

“They're near panic, right?” said Franks, gesturing to the bulging file from England that lay between them on Rosenberg's desk.

“Looks like that,” agreed the lawyer.

“So what effect would a letter from me create, saying I can't maintain the undertaking? I'm maintaining confidence; it's an essential principle of business.”

“So what happens in six months' time? Or rather five and a half months' time, when they'll be pressing for dates?”

“I'll answer that in five and a half months' time,” said Franks. “By then the trial will be over and the hotel pollution may be cleared up.” Franks stopped as the idea occurred to him. “For Christ's sake, why haven't they thought about it in England!” he erupted angrily. “Tell Podmore to stop pissing about with Italian fumigation and cleaning experts. Tell him to get the best company in Britain to create a team and fly them out to Italy to cleanse every hotel. Tell him to send a photographer and a writer from the publicity department to record every step of the cleaning and when it's successful—but only when it's successful, because if it isn't then it'll backfire—issue a complete release on how a baffling infection was beaten. Tell them to send hygiene specialists and doctors as well, if necessary. It'll cost a lot, but it'll be worth every penny if the publicity is sufficiently widespread to restore the confidence that Podmore is so worried about.”

Rosenberg made the required note on his pad and said, “Six months is still too soon, Eddie.”

“I'm fed up talking about it,” refused Franks. Running again, he thought.

Ronan said he wanted Franks in a secure hotel in Manhattan throughout the trial, as he had been for the grand jury hearings, and estimated it could last as long as a month. Maria made a particular effort the night before he left, cooking the beef which she'd learned was his favorite. He told her it was very good, which it was, but he found it difficult to eat, just as she appeared to do.

“You going to be all right by yourself?” he asked.

“Of course. And I won't exactly be by myself, will I?”

Hadn't Tina said something like that, some time? He couldn't remember. He said, “I'll be glad to get the trial over. Then we can get away. Thought where you'd like to go?”

“I'll leave you to decide that.”

“Think about it while I'm gone.”

“It's going to feel strange without you,” said Maria. “I've got used to your being around all the time.”

“Maybe it won't last for a month.”

“Phone?”

“Every day.”

“This will be the first time you've confronted them since the dissolution meeting, won't it?” she said.

“Yes,” said Franks. It seemed a lifetime ago, he thought, and then realized it was: Nicky's lifetime.

“Be careful.”

“There's hardly anything they can do in a court, is there?”

“There doesn't seem much they can't do.”

“They're going to go to jail and then it will all be over,” said Franks.

They exhausted themselves that night with love and Maria, always the demanding one, awoke him before it was properly light and they made love again. She sat, unspeaking, while he packed his cases, and remained silent while he carried them downstairs into the hallway.

“Do you want anything to eat?” she said at last.

“Just coffee.”

They drank it in the kitchen, sitting opposite one another. She said, “There seemed something final about the way you were packing.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Do everything they tell you,” she said. “The FBI, I mean. Don't take any chances.”

“You know I won't.”

“I don't ever remember being so happy as I have been here with you. Despite everything outside.”

“Or me,” said Franks. Was that strictly true? He'd been very contented and settled with Tina when he evolved the long-weekend working routine in England. He must remember to ask Rosenberg how the sale of the Henley house was progressing. He said, “I've got to go.”

“Yes.”

They stood facing each other, neither moving. Then Franks went to her and kissed her, and she gripped him, and said, her voice muffled into his shoulder, “Hurry back.”

There was a tight escort into Manhattan, one car in front and two behind and another man joining Tomkiss and Sheridan actually inside their own vehicle. There was a lot of radio traffic. From the front Franks heard Tomkiss say, “Shit!” The FBI man looked back and said, “Outside the court it's like the Fourth of July, apparently. Photographers and television cameras everywhere. They think it's too dangerous to go in the front; they're going to set up a decoy arrival and we're going to go in through the back.”

Which is what they did, Franks huddled in the middle of a complete circle of guards, head bent, hurrying into the building, and up in an elevator to the fifth floor. Once, remembered Franks, he'd been embarrassed by the procedure. He wasn't anymore. He was jostled into an anteroom similar to that he'd used at the grand jury hearings, surprised to see Tina already there. She was apart from the other witnesses. Waldo and Schultz were at the far end of the room, talking to Knap, and there were a number of other men whom Franks had not met before. Franks hesitated and then went over to his wife.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello.”

“How's your father?”

“He's out of bed now. We can get him around in a wheelchair. There's some speech difficulty, but he's being helped by a therapist.”

“I wanted to keep in touch,” said Franks defensively. “The lawyers said everything should go through them.”

“I know,” she said.

“How's David? Gabby?”

“David still swears, and Gabby wet the bed three times last week.”

“What have you told them about us?”

“The truth, which you didn't seem able to.”