Executive Suite (32 page)

8.24 A.M. EDT

A curl of steam wisped across the bubbling water and Erica Martin lifted the pan and poured. Instantly, the powder in the bottom of the cup gave its blackness to the water and the odor of coffee rose with the steam.

She lifted the cup to her lips and drank, not with savor or relish but with the deliberateness of a demanded act. As she raised her eyes she saw, through the window, the white morning-lighted shaft of the Tredway Tower. She saw it now as a monument to a man who was dead, and the seeing was an acceptance of something that would always be, something that could never be changed. Avery Bullard was dead. She would live forever after without him.

Her eyes dropped and, staring into the blackness of the coffee cup, she tried to force herself to think of the future. The cup trembled and she put it down on the edge of the stove. Unconsciously, she crossed her arms, tightening them in a gesture of self-containment and in the instant of feeling the pressure of her arms against her breasts she remembered the moment of lost control last night when she had flung herself into Don Walling's arms. The warm flush of embarrassment started to rise within her, but as quickly as it rose it was as quickly lost in the memory of his understanding. He was, among all the men to whom she talked last night, the only one who had shown her the kindness of sympathy, the only one who had shared her grief.

8.55 P.M. EDT

Don Walling saw Frederick Alderson waiting at the bottom of the stone steps that led up to his house and the expression on his face created an atmosphere quite different from what he had expected. After the telephone call he had been prepared for a trying session with a distraught old man. Now, much to his surprise, Alderson's face reflected eagerness rather than anxiety. His brisk stride as he came toward the stopped car clinched the point that something must have happened to change materially the situation in the last hour.

“Looks better, Don, looks better,” Alderson said confidently, coming up to the left side of the car. “It's going to work out all right.”

“Jesse change his mind?”

“Jesse? No, nothing like that. Surprised me though, didn't it you—Jesse retiring? Never thought he had an idea like that in his head. Just goes to show that you never know what a man's really thinking about. That's why he's been fixing up this place down in Maryland.”

“Then it isn't something that he decided to do because of Mr. Bullard's death?” Walling asked, voicing the question that had been in his mind ever since the telephone call.

Alderson seemed surprised, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “No, he's been planning it for a long time—kept it to himself—but that's the way Jesse always does everything. Doubt if he'd even have told me now if I hadn't brought up the presidency.”

“Then you did talk to him about that?”

Alderson nodded and the expression on his face anticipated astonishment. “Know what he said? Fred, he said, I wouldn't take that job for a million a month—after taxes! That's what he said, a million a month after taxes.”

“Well, he isn't the only one who turned down the presidency.” The words slipped out before he thought and he regretted his carelessness when he saw the flicker of pain that twitched Alderson's face.

“I know, I know,” Alderson mumbled, but his recovery was almost immediate. “I guess it seemed a little odd to you last night, the way I—” He shot a quick glance toward the house. “You see, I'd promised Edith that I'd take it a little easier—health hasn't been too good, you know—well, maybe she's right.”

“Sure she is, Fred. After all—”

Alderson's voice leaped ahead as if he had cleared an unpleasant barrier. “Anyway, there's nothing to worry about as far as Jesse is concerned. He's with us a hundred per cent—feels the same way about Shaw that we do. That gives us three votes—you and I and Jesse. The whole point is that we need one more.”

“But who do we vote for? If Jesse is out, who—”

Alderson by-passed the interruption. “Don't know why I didn't think of this before. Remember how I had the votes lined up—Dudley voting for Shaw?”

“Yes.”

A crafty twinkle played about Alderson's eyes. “There's one way to keep him from doing it.”

“How?”

“He wouldn't vote for Shaw if he had a chance to vote for himself.”

What Alderson was suggesting was so foreign to anything Don Walling had ever considered before that he couldn't believe he had understood correctly. “Do you mean that—Fred, you aren't thinking of Walt as president?”

“Four votes is all it takes. With Dudley, we'll have them.”

Walling was so startled that an involuntary movement of his body made his foot slip from the brake pedal and the car started to drift down the drive.

“Wait!” Alderson said sharply, his hand holding fast to the door handle as he walked with the moving car.

Walling's foot found the brake pedal again and the car stopped with a jerk. “Fred, I can't imagine—”

“I know, I know—but think about it for a minute or two and it will make a lot more sense.” Alderson walked hurriedly around the car and got in the front seat, raising a restraining hand as Don Walling touched the starter button. “No, wait a minute, boy. Let's talk about this. Anyway, there's no hurry. His train isn't getting in for an hour.” He took a deep breath as if he were preparing himself for an effort. “I know how you feel about Walt. I felt the same way myself when I first thought about it, but the longer I thought, the more I could see in his favor. There isn't a man in the furniture business who has more friends than Walt Dudley. You know that as well as I do. Walt's got a lot of standing. He's been president of the association—on that government committee—all those things—made speeches all over the country. That's important—especially with the company getting as big as it is. What I mean is—well, he makes the right kind of an impression for the company.”

“I know that,” he muttered to fill Alderson's questioning pause—and from out of nowhere came the memory of Karl Eric Kassel and his red beard.

“And he's a worker,” Alderson went on. “You can't argue about that either. Only last month I was talking to Alex Oldham in New York and he said he honestly didn't know how Walt did it—what I mean is, that those boys in the sales department are all pulling for Walt. That's something he has—knowing how to keep people happy and working together—and that's important, awfully important. With Avery Bullard gone—well, that's something the company's going to need.”

Don Walling nodded silently. He couldn't argue. The things that Alderson was saying were the same things he had said to Mary last night … but still it was wrong! It was like an answer that looked right but wasn't right. He
had
to find a flaw somewhere … an error … something that would prove the truth!

Alderson's voice droned on, piling words on words, but they were only a meaningless buzz in Don Walling's ear until he heard him say, “Walt has his weaknesses—Jesse and I can both see that—but if it isn't Walt, then it's going to be Shaw and when you get down to making that choice, I'd a lot rather have Walt. I think you would, too.”

There was the flaw!
His voice leaped at it. “Fred, don't you see that it would still be Shaw? If Walt's elected, he'll make Shaw executive vice-president. Walt will be right under Shaw's thumb and Shaw will be running the company.”

“Wait a minute,” Alderson smiled. “The president doesn't pick the executive vice-president. He's elected by the board, the same as the president is.”

“Oh—” It was the sound of embarrassed deflation.

“I know,” Alderson said sympathetically. “With Mr. Bullard—well, we've all gotten into the habit of taking the board for granted.”

“I suppose so,” he mumbled, feeling the finality of his defeat.

Alderson waited for a beat and then quickened the tempo of his voice. “The same votes that elect Walt president will elect you executive vice-president.”

The import of what Alderson had said did not strike immediately. It came like a delayed explosion, time-fused until the fire of the pronoun had sputtered its way into his brain. Don Walling's lips parted but he tightened them quickly, holding back the meaningless words that were dropping in his mind like the falling debris after a blast.

“Makes more sense now, doesn't it?” Alderson asked with a thin smile.

There were still no words worth saying.

“Walt's going to need a lot of help,” Alderson went on. “That's where you come in. You're strong where Walt is weak. It will be the two of you. What you might call—well, sort of a partnership management.”

“I—I don't know what to say, Fred.”

“There's nothing you have to say. It's settled. We have our four votes and that's all we need.” He extended his arm and picked up Walling's hand from the rim of the steering wheel. “Congratulations, boy.”

Don Walling could not bring himself to tighten his fingers in a grip of acknowledgment. It was all too new, too incredible, too totally unbelievable. “Fred, I—Fred, even if you don't want the presidency, you could still be executive vice-president.”

There was the break of a long silence while Alderson dropped his hands and slowly spread his fingers over his kneecaps. “I'll admit that I thought about it—but only for a minute or two. It wouldn't be the best thing—not the best thing for the company. The man who goes in now as executive vice-president ought to be the man who'll be the next president of the company. I never would be. I'd retire before long and then the whole thing would be thrown wide open again. God only knows what would happen. There'd be a new board of directors—a new director to take Fitzgerald's place—another one to replace Jesse—someone in my chair, too. Three new directors and there wouldn't be a one of them that was ever close enough to Avery Bullard to know—to understand—”

Alderson's voice suddenly quavered off into silence, choked by the pent-up emotion that had broken through the restraint he had been trying so hard to exercise. It was only partially regained as he went on. “There's only one thing I want for myself—only one thing. I want to be sure that the company will go on being the kind of a company that Avery Bullard wanted it to be. There's only one way to do it and that's to settle it right now—while Jesse and I still have our votes. We'll get you in there with Walt and—you can do it, Don, I know you can! You can keep the company going the way he wanted it to go.”

The plea reached into Don Walling's mind and opened again the door that had been so widely opened yesterday, but had been so strangely closed this morning. Once again he felt the full power of the emotional surge and counter-surge that linked his life to Avery Bullard. But now, as if it were a reflected glow, he felt something else, something new, an affection for Frederick Alderson that he had never known before. It was a feeling that rose against odds because, until only minutes ago, he had been thinking of Alderson as a fumbling old man, exposed in all of the weakness that had been so evident when he had crumbled under Shaw's attack last night. Now Frederick Alderson had shown a self-sacrificing loyalty that transcended weakness and actually rose higher because of it.

Words lifted in Don Walling's throat and he let his lips say them. “I'll do the best I can for you, Fred.”

“I know you will, I know you will. But it isn't for me—it's for the company.” Alderson started to get out of the car.

“Aren't you going down to the office?”

“No, I'll take my own car. I'm meeting Walt's train. He's getting in from Chicago on the nine-forty-five. I'd better get to him before Shaw does.”

He remembered that Shaw had mentioned calling Dudley in Chicago. “Fred, unless I miss my guess, Shaw will be meeting that train, too.”

“Don't think so,” Alderson said with an amused twist to his voice. “Pearson tried to call Shaw last night from Chicago to tell him that Dudley was on his way back. He couldn't reach Shaw so he called me instead. Of course, I promised to tell Shaw—and I will—but not until after nine-forty-five.”

Alderson finished with a stiff little salute and turned to walk back toward the old stables that now served as a garage. Watching him, Don Walling had a fleeting feeling of strange disillusionment, as if in this last moment he had seen an unsuspected flaw in his new-made image of Frederick Alderson. But it was gone as fast as it came, washed over by his own wonder at the miracle that had made him executive vice-president of the Tredway Corporation.

ABOARD THE SUSQUEHANNA LIMITED

9.05 A.M. EDT

Four waiters stiffened to attention as J. Walter Dudley entered the dining room. The steward, being a very perceptive man, led him to a table served by a waiter who looked as if he had spent most of his long life in the service of a fine old Southern family.

J. Walter Dudley was no more appreciative of his table assignment than all of the waiters whose suppressed smiles he could not see. Since all of their tips were pooled, they were always glad to have old Henry get a customer who would really shell out for the Uncle Tom act. No one could pull it off like old Henry.

“I'll need a little fast service this morning,” Dudley said in brusque command. “Getting off at Millburgh.”

“Millburgh? Yassuh! Now don't you worry about that, suh. We gonna get you a mighty fine breakfast that you all is sure 'nough going to enjoy. Yassuh! Now what you sorta hankering for this morning? Maybe a nice piece of the melon I been saving special?”

“Sounds fine,” Dudley said, pleased. “Soft scrambled eggs dry toast and coffee.”

“Yassuh!” Henry exclaimed, making the order sound like an inspired triumph. “You know what else I'se going to bring you? I'se going to bring you some real old Southern biscuits like you all don't never get up North. You just read your paper now, suh, and right away I'se going to bring you that melon.”