Keep Calm (5 page)

Adam let the two trolleys he was pushing go clumsy on him so that he could hang back and let them all have a moment in the crowded terminal. He let Trudy pass him too, let her join the hugfest, gave them all the moment they needed. He was the spoiler; there was no doubt about it. He was fine with that. He wanted to give Gordon a beat. Allow little Billy a chance to have the meeting he had been longing for.

The boy just gaped at the big man with the long arms coiled around his mother. He watched his grandfather's every move as if he were some folklore mountain beast that had stumbled down from the woods. Gordon let Kate partially free and turned to the tiny eight-year-old, smiling as Billy looked up to him from knee high to Gordon's frame.

“Hello there, little one. It's so nice to meet you.”

“You're my grandfather?”

“I am.” Billy just continued to stare at him, not sure what to say to his mother's father that he had come so far to meet. “You look different in person. Skinnier.”

“What can I say lad? I'm getting old. Maybe while you're here we can go out for some ice cream and fatten me up. Do you like the idea of that? You and your Poppa? Getting off for some ice cream?” Billy nodded. Words weren't coming to him. He had put the mystery of the old man in the faraway world of London so high and mighty in his head. Like the ring in the Tolkien tales, this was the holy grail for him for some reason, to see his granddad, and here he was in the flesh, and the boy was tongue-tied. The old man just laughed and pulled him in with his long hairy arms for an energetic hug.

When he could no longer fake bad trolley wheels, Adam pushed to the top of the ramp and said hello. Gordon, happy as could be with young Billy in his wrap, was polite. Almost even warm.

“It's nice to see you, boy. Welcome to England.” He let go of Billy and pulled Adam in, gave him a solid hug, so happy to see his daughter, grandson, and granddaughter, that he even had a genuine spillover of affection for Adam.

“The people here at the company are excited to have you, Adam. I've been instructed to make you plenty comfortable. We've got you at the Millennium right there in Mayfair, on Grosvenor Square. You couldn't do better. We've got two interns with two people movers out at the arrivals curb. One of us will go with the luggage and the helpers, and the other will go with Kate and the kids. Makes no difference to me.”

“Don't be silly, Gordon. I'll go with the luggage. You can ride with Kate and the kids.”

Gordon didn't waste a breath signing off on that version of the plan. “Classic idea! Like the way you're thinking. Let's put a move on.”

*   *   *

SOMEWHERE AROUND THE
time the two Heaton Global–owned Mercedes vans snaked their way off the highway, as the A4 became Cromwell Road, Gordon decided he had wrung all of the conversation it was possible to get out of an eight-year-old and a seventeen-year-old and let it lie, making a conscious decision to give them the peace to lose themselves to their own thoughts. In Trudy's case, that meant her iPad. Billy sat happily up on his lap, looking out the window to fresh shapes, colors, and images of the brand-new world of London floating by. They passed the museums on Cromwell Road, and the busy mansion flats once they made it to Brompton Road. Gordon pointed out Harrods, the world-famous department store.

Gordon and Kate had a nice chat as they circled around Hyde Park Corner. He reminded her of visits to the park as a little girl that she had no recollection of. It felt good to see him. Though he may have been making all of these little anecdotes up as far as Kate knew, if he was, she didn't mind. She liked the detail he was giving each little story. She thought he was being sweet; she wanted to enjoy it, regardless of the level of veracity.

It was as they came into Mayfair, up Park Lane, that he hit his first sour note.

“Have you heard from Richard Lyle, Kate? I see him a bit, you know? He calls now and then. In fact, we met up for breakfast in a little café off of Hanover Square not long ago. I told him you were coming round.”

He checked her eyes for traces of sentiment from the time he mentioned Richard's name. The fact that he did it, the amount of energy he was putting into a search for emotion, agitated her in a way that he probably didn't imagine it would. She just stared at him—for several blocks, it seemed.

“What's wrong, doll? Have I upset you?” She clocked her peripheral view to make sure that the kids weren't focused in on the dialogue, and then she finally answered.

“No. All you've done is to confirm to me that you haven't changed in the slightest.”

“Don't be that way. I was being nice.”

“I'm sure on some level you believe that, Daddy. But the truth is you are not being nice at all when you play a game like that. Not in the state that you know we're in at this point in my life. My marriage.”

“I was just saying that Richard was doing well, I thought…”

“I know what you thought, Daddy. It's clear. Don't you think I'm smart enough to know why you're asking?”

The van pulled up Brook Street to the south side of Grosvenor Square and to the front door of the Millennium, just east of the former American embassy. The trip in from Heathrow was over, and so was the conversation.

As Adam hopped out of the other coach with the bags and the HGI interns, Kate made a point to give her husband a sweet kiss and take in the view of the “American Square” in front of the hotel with him. He gladly took her hand and just as sweetly led the children and her inside the charming flag-draped brick building that looked more like an embassy than the now-closed American embassy on the far side of the square ever had. Gordon dutifully followed along behind the helpers, bellboys, and baggage carts.

*   *   *

INSIDE, AS THEY
checked in, Trudy saw a young French boy, also at the counter, who was with his mother, a woman who Gordon said was part of the Heaton Global delegation going to Number 10 later in the week. Adam and Kate both slyly watched as Trudy and the very handsome boy flirted briefly in the reception line. They caught each other watching and quietly laughed together about their little girl. It never took Trudy long to rebound. It was a good sign, Adam thought; maybe this trip would help things get back to normal for all of them.

As they settled into their two-bedroom suite, Adam got a call that Sir David would like to say hello. It was surprising, to be sure, but the HGI representative on the phone said that Heaton wanted Adam to walk a block over toward Berkeley Square and have a drink with him in the hotel bar at the Connaught.

Gordon was waiting to meet him in the lobby of the Millennium, having already known of the summons. Adam was wearing a rumpled sweater and blue jeans, looking like he'd just flown across the world. Gordon took one look at him and immediately sent him right back up to his room.

“You put a jacket and tie on when you see this man, son. I'm not sure what's on your mind, but this is the first thing you need to do.”

Adam reluctantly went back up to change. Kate got a kick out of it, thought it was cute that Adam hadn't expected that reaction. Once appropriately attired, he reunited with Gordon downstairs and they walked the short block over to the Connaught together. Gordon left him at the front door and waited on the sidewalk.

“I think it's best for you to see him alone. I'm sure it's what he has on his mind.”

“What is this about, Gordon? I mean, there's something like, what, eight, ten people on the delegation? Why does he want to see me, the one who knows next to nothing about the business?”

“You're asking the wrong fellow, sport. I never know why this fellow does a damn thing. Never have. Known him my whole life, haven't figured him out yet. I just know he's keen for a sit-down, so get in there and shine up your smile. That's good advice I'm giving you.”

Adam silently agreed, turned, and made his way into the hotel's stately lobby.

The Connaught, named after Queen Victoria's seventh child, Arthur, the Duke of Connaught, is a princely building seated proudly in the middle of an open-air courtyard formed by the merging of Carlos Place and Mount Street smack in the middle of Mayfair. Churchill, de Gaulle, and Eisenhower often had dinner in the Connaught's wood-paneled dining room during World War II. What it had become in the present day was a throwback, a holdout, a high-end watering hole and world-class “five star” for the Mayfair-bound jet set.

Sir David Heaton was waiting alone at a table for five in the crowded, smoky bar. He was dressed immaculately: a Kiton K-5 bespoke suit, shoes that glistened as if they were diamonds, and fingernails that were smoothed and polished on a regular basis. Sir David was a good-looking man who had put a lot of time, energy, and money into his appearance. He was smoking a long, thick Cohiba cigar, sipping a fifty-year-old Glenfiddich. He knew Adam the minute he walked in. He stood and offered his hand with a big, ruddy, open smile.

“Adam Tatum. It's a pleasure to meet you, boy. Sincerely. Have a seat here, and let me order you up a scotch.”

Adam hadn't been drinking. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to. It wasn't one of the several stipulations on the settlement of his court case back in Michigan, but it was more or less a promise that he had made to Kate that he was trying his best to keep. Still, this was Sir David Heaton. There was no way he was going to turn him down, so he accepted.

“I hear good things about you, Tatum. From the Chicago office. What's your man's name there? Your department head?”

“Saffron. Barry Saffron.”

“Right. Says you can close a deal, Tatum. Is that true?”

“It is, sir, so far, I guess.” Adam answered him, nervously. This was just the way Heaton wanted him answering him. Everything about Heaton's game was to make you nervous talking to him. He liked a man to be careful with his words around him, liked his employees always just a little bit off stride.

“Well, we have a very, very big deal here within our grasp now, Tatum. We're gonna need all the help we can get to close it.”

Adam's drink came. It quickly became a second and a cigar was soon lit for him. Heaton comically told Adam stories of his life, of his years in business, of his father the wealthy banker and MP in Parliament, of his uncle Edmund Heaton, the former home secretary, of his own time as a member of Parliament representing Hampstead and Highgate, his years as a minister for the European Union, and a brief synopsis of how he then went back into business and built Heaton Global Investments. Of how he almost single-handedly turned it into the largest retirement services organization in the world.

“At any one time we are investing the pension funds for over two thousand organizations and one hundred thousand private individuals, for a grand total of over two hundred ten billion dollars. That's much more than bags of bauble, Tatum. Am I right?”

As Adam's third scotch was brought over, as Heaton lit a second Churchill-sized cigar, he easily signaled for his fourth or even fifth drink. He was a famous man, David Heaton, with a well-documented, outsized appetite for life. Aside from Heaton Global he also owned an airline, a movie theater chain, and several large five-star hotel lines. In fact, he owned the Connaught. He dated models, film stars, and other business magnates—powerful women. He had even, for a short time, years back, dated Georgia Turnbull, the chancellor.

Sir David was confident and cocksure. He was as warm as each situation needed him to be, yet there was also a darkness about Heaton, a mysteriously mischievous cloud above him that Adam could see from afar while reading about him in magazine profiles. An evil glint to his eyes that in person was even more identifiable.

“Tell me about you, Adam. I want to know everything. About your growing up outside of Detroit, your days as a police officer in Ann Arbor … and I want to know about this trouble you got yourself into two years ago. It interests me. I've googled up on it, just as I'm sure you've googled up on me. Gordon has filled me in on the big strokes, but I wonder about the details. I want the ‘behind the scenes.'”

Adam sat there for a while, puffed on his cigar, and stared at Heaton, not the least bit nervous at this point. The scotch had settled in his belly; the strong Cuban nicotine had calmed and soothed his mind; the smell of the pretty women's perfume that floated through the air from the surrounding tables was giving his spirit a gentle lift. He leaned in closer to Heaton—his new friend. He got inches from his face and declared quietly, but boldly: “I fucked up. Big time.”

Heaton let out a bellow of a laugh and whisked an ash from his finely clad knee. “I bet you did. From what I've heard it was a doozy. Tell me about it.”

“I lost everything. Every penny I had in the world. I lost my home, my job, and my friends. More important, I almost lost my wife.” He leaned back now, puffed the cigar again, hit the scotch. “I got carried away, David. Carried away by political forces, bigger than I was. Bigger by far. A moment in time, the music of the mob. It just happened. I wasn't a political man. That's important to know. Very key to it all. I was a union man, to a point. Had union men in my family. Union in my blood. Always sided with the worker, but the sad truth, why I did what I did, was that I got whipped up by the crowd. Taken by a passion for what I thought was right. We were liquored up, and we thought we had come upon an easy answer to a complicated problem. I wish I had a better story than that. I wish my motives were more intelligible, but they weren't. I was playing a bit part, but I played it to the hilt. Does that make any sense?”

Heaton leaned in, put his arm on the shoulder of his new drinking buddy, and got right into his face now.

“It doesn't make the slightest bit of sense, Tatum. Not one single ounce of it. But let me tell you something else.” He flashed his brightest smile now. “I like you. I like you a lot.” With that, he started laughing, a big, throaty, arm-slapping gust of mirth. As the laugh subsided, he gently slapped Adam on the side of the face and ordered them each another round.