The Moneychangers (40 page)

G.G. Quartermain of Supranational phoned me twice yesterday from New York about a personal project of his called Q-Investments. This is a small private group of which Quartermain (Big George) is the principal, and our own director, Harold Austin, is a member. The group has already bought large blocks of common stock of various Supranational enterprises at advantageous terms. More purchases are planned.

What Big George wants from us is
a loan to Q-Investments of $1
million at the same low rate as the Supranational loan, though without any
requirement of a compensating balance. He points out that the SuNatCo compensating balance will be ample to offset this personal loan which is true, though of course there is no cross guarantee.

I might mention that Harold Austin also telex phoned me to urge that the loan be made.

The Honorable Harold, in fact, had bluntly reminded Heyward of a quid pro quota debt for Austin's strong support at the time of Ben Rosselli's death. It was a support which Heyward would continue to need when Patterton the interim Pope retired in eight months' time. The memo to Patterton continued:

Frankly, the interest rate on this proposed loan is too low, and waiving a compensating balance would be a large concession. But in view of the Supranational business which Big George has given us, I think we would be wise to go along. I recommend the loan. Do you agree?

Jerome Patterton
had sent the memo back with a laconic penciled Yes against the final question. Knowing Patterton, Heyward doubted if he had given the whole thing more than a cursory glance.

Heyward had seen no reason why Alex Vandervoort need be involved, nor was the loan large enough to require approval by the money policy committee. Therefore, a few days later, Roscoe Heyward had initialed approval himself, which he had authority to do.

What he did not have authority for and had reported to no one was a personal transaction between himself and G. G. Quartermain.

During their second telephone conversation about Qlnvestments, Big George calling from a SuNatCo offshbot in Chicago had said, "Been talking to Harold Austin about
you, Roscoe. We both think it’
s time you got involved in our investment group. Like to have you with us. So what I've done is allot two thousand shares which we'll regard as fully paid for. They're nominee certificates endorsed in blank more discreet that way. I'll have 'em put in the mail."

Heyward had demurred. 'T
hank you, George, but I don't believe I should accept." "For Chrissakes, why not?" - "It would be unethical."

Big George had guffawed. "This is the real world, Roscoe. Same kind of thing happens between clients and bankers all the
time. You know it. I know it."

Yes, Heyward knew, it did happen, though not "all the time," as Big George claimed, and Heyward had never let it happen to himself.

Before he could answer, Quartermain persisted, "Listen, fella, don't be a damn fool. If it makes you feel better well say the shares are in return
for your investment advice."

But Heyward knew he had given no investment advice, either then or subsequently.

A day or two later, the Q-Investments share certificates arrived by registered airmail, in an envelope with elaborate seals, and marked STRICT
LY PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. e
ven Dora Callaghan hadn't opened that one.

At home that evening, studying the Q-Investments financial statement which Big George had also supplied, Heyward realized his two t
housand shares had a net asset
value of twenty thousand dollars. Later, if Q-Investments prospered or went public, their worth would be much greater.

At that point he had every intention of returning the shares to G. G. Quartermain; then, reassessing his own precarious finances no better than they had been several months ago he hesitated. Fi
nally he yielded to temptation
and later that week put the certificates in his safe deposit box at FMA's main downtown branch. It was not, Heyward rationalized, as if he had deprived the bank of money. He hadn't. In fact, because of Supranational, the reverse was true. So if Big George chose to make a friendly gift, why be churlish and refuse it?

But his acceptance still worried him a little, especially since Big George had telephoned at the end of last week this time from Amsterdam seeking an additional half mill
ion dollars for Q-Investments.
"There's a unique chance for our Q group to pick up a block of stock over here in Guilderland that's certain to be high flying. Can't say too much on an open line, Roscoe, so trust me."

"I do, of course, George," Heyward had said, "but the bank will need details."

"You'll get 'em by courier tomorrow." To which Big George had added pointedly, "Don't forget you're one of us now."

Briefly, Heyward had a second uneasy feeling: G. G. Quartermain might be paying more attention to his private investments than to management of Supranational. But the next day's news had reassured him. The Wall Street Journal and other papers carried prominent stories
about a major, Quartermain-engineered industrial takeover by SuNatCo in Europe. It was a commercial coup d'etat which sent Supranational shares soaring on the New Yo
rk and London markets and made F
MA's loan to the corporate giant seem even sounder.

As Heyward entered his outer office, Mrs. Callaghan offered him her usual matronly smile. The other messages are on your desk, sir."

He nodded, but inside pushed the pile aside. He hesitated over papers which had been prepared, but were not yet approved, concerning the additional Q-Investments loan. Then he dismissed that too, and, using a phone which was a direct outside line, dialed the number of paradise.

"Rossie, sweetie," Avril whispered as the tip of her tongue explored his ear, "you're hurrying too much. Waitl Lie stilll Stilll Hold backl" She stroked his naked shoulder, then his spine, her fingernails hovering, sharp but gossamer light.

Heyward moaned a mixture of savored, sweetest pleasure, pain, and postponed fulfillment as he
obeyed. She whispered again, "I’
ll be worth waiting, I promise."

He knew it would be. It always was. He wondered again how someone so young and beautiful could have learned so much, be so emancipated. .. uninhibited… gloriously wise.

"No
t yet, Rossiel Darling, not yet There
That's good. Be patient!"

Her hands, skilled and knowing, went on exploring. He let his mind and body float, knowing from experience it was best to do everything… exactly as… she said. "Oh, that's good, Rossie. Isn't it
lovely?" He breathed, "Yes. Yes!
" "Soon, Rossie. Very soon."

Beside him, over the bed's two pillows, close together, Avril's red hair tumbl
ed. Her kisses had devoured him
. The ambrosial, heady fragrance of her filled his nostrils. Her marvelous, willowy, willing body was beneath him. This, his senses shouted, was the best of life, of earth and heaven, here and now.

The only bittersweet sadness was that he had waited so many years to find it. Again Avril's lips searched for
his and found them She urged him, "Now, Rossie! Now, sweetie! Now!
'

The bedroom, as Heyward had observed when he arrived, was standard Hilton clean, efficiently comfortable, and a characterless box. A compact sitting room of the same genre was outside; on this occasion, as on the others, Avril had taken a suite.

They had been here since late afternoon. After the lovemaking they had dozed, awakened, made love again though not with entire success then slept for an hour more. Now both were dressing. Heyward's watch showed eight o'clock.

He was exhausted, physically drained. More than anything else he wanted to go home and go to bed alone. He wondered how soon he could decently slip away.

Avril had been outside in the sitting room, telephonin
g. When she returned, she said!
"I ordered dinner for us
, sweetie. It'll be up soon." 'T
hat's wonderful, my dear."

Avril had put on a filmy slip and pantyhose. No bra
.
She began brushing her long hair which had become disordered. He sat on the bed watching her, despite his tiredness aware that every movement she made was lithe and sensuous. Compared with Beatrice, whom he was used to seeing daily, Avril was so young. Suddenly he felt depressingly old.

They went into the sitting room where Avril said, "Let's open the champagne."

It was on a sideboard in an ice bucket. Heyward had noticed it earlier. By this time most of the ice had melted but the bottle was still cold. He fumbled inexpertly with wire and cork.

"Don't try to move the cork," Avril told
him. "Tilt the bottle to forty-f
ive degrees, then hold the cork and twist the bottle." It worked easily. She knew so much. Taking the bottle from him, Avril poured into two glasses. He shook his head. "You know I don't drink, my dear."

"It'll make you feel you
nger." She held out a glass. As
he surrendered and took it, he wondered if she had read his mind.

Two refills later, when their room service meal arrived, he did feel younger.

When the waiter had gone, Heyward said, "You should have let me
pay for that." A few minutes earl
ier he had brought out his wallet but Avril waved it away and signed the check. "Why, Rossie?"

"Because you must allow me to give you back some of your expenses the hotel bills, the cost of flying here from New York." He had learned that Avril had an apartment in Greenwich Village. "It's too much for you to spend yourself."

She looked at him curiously, then gave a silvery laugh "You didn't think I was paying for all this?" She gestured around the suite. "Using my money? Rossie, baby, you have to be crazyl" "Then who is paying?"

"Supranatio
nal of course, you old silly!
Everythi
ng's charged to them this suite,
the meal, my air fare, my time." She crossed to his chair and kissed him; her lips were full and mo
ist. "Just don't worry about it
"

He sat still, crushed and silent, absorbing the impact of what had just been said. The mellowing potency of the champagne still coursed through his body, yet his mind was sharp.

"My time." That hurt most of all
. Until now he had assumed the reason Avril telephoned him after the Bahamas, suggesting that they meet, was because she liked him and had enjoyed as much as he did what happened between them.

How could he have been so naive? Of course the entire exercise had been arranged by Quartermain and was at Supranational's expense. Shouldn't commonsense have told him? Or had he shielded himself by not inquiring sooner because he hadn't wanted to know? Something else: If Avril were being paid for "my time," what did that make her? A whore? If so, what then was Roscoe Heyward? He closed his eyes. St. Luke 18.13, he thought: God be merciful to me a sinner.

There was one thing he could do, of course. Immediately. That was find out how much had been expended until now, and afterwards send his personal check for that amount to Supranational. He began calculating, then realized he had no idea of the cost of Avril. Instinct told him it would not be small.

In any case he doubted the wisdom of such a move. His comptroller's mind reasoned: How would Supranational show the payment on its books? Even more to the point, he didn't have that much money to spare. And besides, what would happen when he wanted Avril again? He knew, already, that he would.

The telephone rang, filling the small sitting room with sound. Avril answered it, spoke briefly, then announced, "It's for you." "For me?"

As he took the receiver, the
voice boomed, "Hi there, Roscoe
" Heyward asked sharply, "Where are you, George?"

"Washington. What's the difference? Got some real good news about SuNatCo. Quarterly earnings statement. You'll read about it
in tomorrow's papers." "You call
ed me here to tell me
that?" "Interrupted you, did I?
" "No."

Big George chuc
kled. "Just a friendly phone call
, fella Checking that all arrangements were okay."

If he wanted to protest, Heyward realized, this was the moment. But protest what? The generous availability of Avril? Or his own acute embarrassment?

The booming telephone voice cut through his dilemma 'What Q-Investments credit okayed yet?" "Not quite." 'Taking your time, aren't you?" "Not really. There are formalities." "Let's move 'em, or I'
ll have to give some other bank
that business, and maybe shift some of Supranational's over, too."

The threat was clear. It did not surprise Heyward by cause pressures and concessions were a normal part of banking. "I'll do my best, George."
A grunt. "Avril still there?”
"Yes." "Lemme talk to her."

Heyward passed the phone to Avril. She listened briefly, said, "Yes, I will," smiled, and hung up.

She went into the bedroom where he heard a suitcase snap open and a moment later she emerged with a large manila envelope. "Georgie said I was to give you this."