The Heir (28 page)

Eric blushed.
Mignon
I knew, and it was not helpful to the situation. She’d told Madeleine she thought he was cute.

“Tais-toi!”
Madeleine said.
“Tu ne devrais pas dire ça!”

“Mais je peux dire que vous êtes touts les deux ravissantes,”
he said. Now he was calling them beautiful, which they were, and things were getting out of hand.

“Now, Eric,” said Katie, “don’t use all your compliments at once.” For a moment her own light had been eclipsed, but only for a moment. Her colors were Monet, but her essence was Rembrandt, stronger in character, and deeper and more powerful in meaning than any Italian master, and worth ten times as much. “We have the whole evening.”

“And you’ll conduct yourselves properly,” Grandpa said, half in humor.

And then, one more entrance. Gladys Forrester was last, shortest, and least concerned. If she didn’t care much for us, she still didn’t mind showing off a dull scarlet evening dress that was quite becoming with her blue-gray helmet. We had our last round of names.

The tykes had switched to English, and the minimum amount of pre-dinner socializing was accomplished. Now we were even: four gentlemen, four ladies; four Forresters and four Boyers. What Fred lacked in real Boyer blood, he made up for in volume.

We were taken to the dining room. The table was as long as Katie’s, but there was no hint of rusticity here. From the English country garden pictures on the walls to the Wedgwood china settings on the table, we were being told very plainly that the Forresters were better than the Boyers. It was the theme of the evening.

We were seated by rank, the senator at the head, I at his right and Katie opposite me, Genevieve beside me with Fred opposite, Eric beside Genevieve with Madeleine across from him, and the matriarch at the end. It would not have been proper for Katie and I to be so close, but with only eight, the rules were flexible. I did know which fork to use for each of the many courses, from watercress soup and lobster salad to raspberry aspic, with a beef Wellington in between that almost made me wish I were enjoying the meal.

Eight at the table was just enough to keep two conversations going. I couldn’t monitor Eric two seats down and attend to Forrester simultaneously, so I had to throw the babe to the wolves.

“The president may yet listen to reason,” the senator was saying as the salads were served, this apparently being his designated topic for his dinner lecture. “Otherwise the Senate will rein him in, as usual. I have explained to him more than once that his position is unacceptable.”

There was nothing to answer, nor was there meant to be. I didn’t even remember what policy issue it was he was talking about. It didn’t matter. We were not just being given a clue to the schedule of the evening; we were being subjected to a full volume broadcast that the senator was in command, and the next hour at the table was for him to show off his importance.

There would be time later to wrest control of the evening. I listened and made vague comments. Katie could see Eric, and I watched her for any alarms.

I stole a glance myself. He was surrounded, Genevieve to the left of him, Gladys to the right of him, Madeleine in front of him. His was not to question why, his was to make witty answers and look cute. I heard a few words about his motorcycles. Genevieve was next to me and we should have spoken at least once during each course, but after our first polite two sentences we had tacitly dismissed each other to the assigned tasks.

Fred ate. He shifted his attention to the senatorial end and made even vaguer comments than I, and less frequently. Dinner was flyover, something to get past between destinations—not that he neglected it. He did not mind that, at the dinner table tonight, only food and not conversation was meant to be substantial. But he surely did know what Bob Forrester was doing.

Because, so far, Bob’s plan for the evening had not included any gesture meant to conciliate me. Much more the opposite, in fact, and I had plenty of time to think about it. He had invited me to his house and then insulted me publicly on television after doing so privately in his Washington office weeks ago. Now he was dominating the conversation and stressing his own importance.

I let my thoughts linger on the insult, and a little ember of annoyance broke through my defenses. I lost the senator’s thread for a moment but his words continued to blow against me, encouraging the glowing red spark, and it began to spread.

“The subcommittee will decide that, of course,” Forrester was saying. “I may require a delay in the hearing if these questions are not answered, but I will not allow the bill to go forward in its present state.”

I was getting impatient with this harangue. It was dry tinder for the flame to grow and thrive. Should I stifle the fire or the senator? Katie was keeping an eye on me. She could see the signs. Fred was just eating. He was more aware than he looked, but he didn’t look it.

What was I mad about? Of course I was being treated contemptuously. Why should that matter? This was politics.

But it did matter. The flames and heat were mounting.

“One might wonder why the Senate should consider that such issues are important.”

Good question, Bob. One might wonder why I was considering his attitude as important. There was no reason to get mad and a dozen reasons not to. I could be patient. There were years to go. Why was any challenge to my own authority so troubling to me? It just was, and the flames kept growing.

“Some might say the consideration is long overdue,” Fred commented.

Good point, too, Fred. Because now it was a full bonfire, long past any hope of extinguishing. It was controlling me. What was it?

More than just anger. I had to escape.

“But no one is willing to provide leadership,” said the senator.

“The politics make it difficult.”

Yes, Fred, very difficult. Impossible. There was no escape. Bob’s interminable hectoring was driving me mad. Perhaps I was supposed to be honored. Since the president was too unintelligent to receive instruction, I was privileged to receive it instead.

Was this meant to be intimidation? I should be overawed and surrender? Then he’d badly miscalculated. Had he even calculated at all? Did he know he was taking a gamble, hoping that I was too young and insecure to stand up to him, or in his arrogance did he just assume it? Had he considered that I might be driven to a very different reaction?

“I doubt anything will be resolved under the current circumstances,” the senator said with finality. We were done with the meal; Gladys had set her folded napkin on her dessert plate. The pompous fool had dragged it out too long, even far too long. The inferno had consumed me, and what was left?

We were back in the library. The senator’s speech was over and for the moment we were silent. Eric was on the veranda with the four ladies, just outside the open French doors. I declined a cigar but Fred accepted, so our host was free to smoke one, as well.

Fred started the discussion. “We should get down to business now, I think.”

“The whole affair has been a disaster,” Forrester said.

It was finally time to draw the long knives.

“I would simply call it unfortunate,” Fred said.

“It should have been avoided.” Forrester was using the same dictatorial tone. Did he have any other?

He was standing in the center of the room, and I was by the doors. I could see Eric on a bench, the girls on either side, laughing. Were they enjoying his company or just waiting to mock him once he was gone? I would cram him down their throats.

Fred was seated in an armchair that deserved him. He exhaled a vast lungful of smoke. “It became unavoidable.”

“It shouldn’t have. This has been childish.”

Wrong word, Senator. Very bad word to use at this moment. I was not speaking—as much anger as I had, there was still capacity for much more. It wouldn’t do to pull the trigger while there was still the risk of one short outburst using it all up.

“It may seem so, Bob.” Fred was interpreting my silence as permission for him to manage the negotiations. “But it did become unavoidable, and we took necessary actions. Surely you know the sequence of events. The governor brought it on himself. Certainly you aren’t grieved by his departure.”

Bob only frowned. “I never meant for Henry Malden to be governor. When I selected him for lieutenant governor, it was only to manage the state senate. Never for this.”

“He will be governor on Tuesday. The impeachment bill has been written and will be debated Monday.” Fred breathed in, and out. “Would you instruct the state senate to vote it down?”

“Would you?” Forrester sneered at the thought. “Of course not. Even if I had a reason to, Harry Bright is far past rescue. But now there will be anarchy. Malden won’t impose order. Someone will need to.”

“Jason and I have discussed this, of course.”

Yes, Jason. Remember him? He’s part of this.

The senator did not turn toward me. “Melvin Boyer might have had influence. His son does not.”

I was at least looking at him. Fred waited for me. He was realizing that my silence was not from respect for my elders. It was even causing Forrester a little unease.

“The strengths of the Boyer family have not changed,” Fred said. “The assets and organization are still intact. The governor made the mistake of not realizing that.”

“Is that a threat?” Four bullets, point blank at Fred’s vest.

Fred’s cigar smoke deflected them. “Of course not, Bob.”

“The governor is a fool. Don’t think you’ve done anything impressive by exposing him. Anyone could have done it; it was no show of strength.”

“If that is how you see it . . .” Fred shrugged.

“And a show of strength is necessary, and so I will be meeting with Malden and senate leaders tomorrow morning.”

Your strength, Senator? Listening to this was pure jet fuel for the fire.

“We should discus that,” Fred said. “I’ve made a few phone calls already.”

“I’m aware of your calls, and there is nothing to discuss. I want you to stay out of this—you and your . . . your client.” His voice was rising, so that the galleries and television cameras could catch every word. “Your actions this week have destroyed any credibility the Boyer name might still have had and clearly demonstrated this young man’s incompetence and immaturity.”

“I really don’t think the theatrics are necessary.” For Fred, the speech had just been the beginning of negotiations, the senator stating his opening position. Nothing personal, only business. “You know as well as I . . .”

“Excuse me, Fred.”

It was time. I turned toward the senator.

“Bob.”

He turned to me. A long, thin stream of blue-white smoke spewed from his mouth. Fred’s plume was thicker. He had turned to me, also, with a stern warning in his eyes. I turned my back on both of them.

The terrace outside the French doors had a granite rail. It was ornamented with statuary, and I was suddenly pleased to see my little stone friend there! Maybe he had followed me from the church, or maybe it was his twin. His hand was up and he was looking right at me. It was a portent—a sign that fate was with me.

“Eight years ago, Melvin gave you your senate seat.” I said it loud enough for him to hear me, with my back to him. Maybe Katie and her hostess could hear me, as well. Eric was not in sight. “If we’re discussing incompetence, you were the one who was incapable of winning an election on your own.” I turned, and we faced each other. “When you were given the office, there were conditions. And you have not been released from your obligation.”

He was furious, his own cold anger finally hot. “Young man, I have already told you—”

“Shut up.” We locked eyes. “I expect respect, not condescension.” Who would ever have stood up to him like this, against his money and power and pride? Which of us was stronger now?

“You brazen upstart.”

“I didn’t come this evening for you to reprimand me, or to listen to your conceited tirade. I came to discuss Governor Bright. You thought your show of arrogance would frighten me, and it was quite a show. But you were wrong.” We were still eye to eye, and I wasn’t sweating. “You made a big mistake, Bob, and it’s going to cost you.”

“You are making the mistake.” He was not backing down, but at least I’d become someone he had to speak to. “Do you think your money can buy you anything you want? You are wrong. I owe you nothing. I am a United States senator, and I have wealth to match yours.”

“Bob. Jason.” Fred saw the need for an adult to intervene. “You’ve both had a chance to express your frustrations. Now, let’s get past this and move on to the business at hand.”

“I think this is our business for this evening,” I said. “We are deciding who will be the next senator, and it won’t be a cozy deal. It will be whoever is strongest.”

“This is ridiculous.” Forrester made a quick glance at the ceiling, as if he had just lost patience with the encounter. But he’d blinked and we both knew it.

“I want you to announce that this will be your last term.” I looked out the window. The little statue was still smiling at me. I must be doing well.

“I will do no such thing.”

I slowly turned back to him. “Are you sure, senator? Do you really want to fight this out? Do you want to see the crowds turning against you? Do you want to read the antagonistic editorials? Face the hostile reporters?”

“Stanley Morton would never treat me like that!”

“How much of his company do you own? And picture the campaign. It won’t be like last time. Maybe there will be scandals. This pedestal you’ve got yourself on will be real easy to knock over. Do you think your precious president or anyone else will care what you think when they see your whole state turning against you? Just imagine what it will feel like when everyone around you is watching you fall and laughing at you behind your back, or maybe to your face. And now you’re an old man, too, and you’re tired. Do you have the stomach for this fight, senator?” The words were flowing out of me—I didn’t even need to think, they just came.

I gave him plenty of time to answer. He didn’t, so I did.