The Rich Are Different (94 page)

‘Oh Steve!’ I gasped feebly. I was on the point of making a complete fool of myself when I spotted the sideboard key lurking on the top dish of the epergne, and I grabbed it as if it were a lifeline. ‘Have a drink!’ I said, scrambling to my feet. ‘What would you like?’

‘Anything but tea,’ he said. ‘I drank enough tea when I was with Emily to boost the entire economy of India. How about a quick Scotch?’

Of course he had to have his wretched ice. When I gave the order to Wetherby I took the opportunity to ask why the sideboard key hadn’t been in its usual place. Wetherby told me the sideboard key shouldn’t be left lying around. ‘You should have one key, madam, and I should have the other.’ ‘Wetherby, I’m not wearing that key around my neck day and night.’ ‘As madam wishes …’ Servants were really very exhausting. Although I had abandoned my Marxist leanings I still occasionally longed for the great social levelling which Marx had promised was inevitable.

Steve and I exchanged cocktail party questions and answers. I asked him when he had arrived, had he had a good flight, and he gave the appropriate responses. It was only after Wetherby had returned with the ice that Steve said: ‘I’ve got to stop drinking like this, but I’ll be all right now I’m here with you again.’

‘Steve—’

‘Yes, I know, don’t say it, you don’t want me back after the way I treated you, and I don’t blame you either. How can I ever apologize or explain? God, what a mess my life’s in!’ he exclaimed despairingly, and having tossed back his whisky in a single gulp he poured himself another.

The nakedness of his distress made him vulnerable and by magic I felt more composed. After drinking a little brandy I lit a cigarette with a steady hand. ‘You said some terrible things to me,’ I said, ‘but I said some terrible things to you. We were both to blame, Steve.’

He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘But what happened, Dinah?’ he said baffled. ‘Why did we suddenly tear into each other like that? Just what the hell was going on back there in the summer of ’29?’

‘Ah Steve!’ I said with a sigh, and taking another sip of brandy I inhaled deeply from my cigarette and started to explain.

[3]

We had
been hamstrung by our memories of my visit to New York in 1926. Having concluded he was nothing but a rake with a flair for finance, I had decided that he could only be ensnared if I acted the part of a fun-loving femme fatale. He had thought I was the hottest siren ever to emerge from England, and had decided to ensnare me with a judicious mixture of copious sex and cunning British sportsmanship. Having fooled one another so successfully we should hardly have been surprised when we had found ourselves in the midst of that final violent quarrel. Our relationship, seemingly so substantial, had been a grand illusion. One can only act a part night and day for a limited time before wilting with exhaustion, and the surprise was not that our relationship had disintegrated but that it had lasted so long.

‘But why did we get driven into acting these parts?’ said Steve, still mystified.

‘Because we wanted each other so much. I don’t think we could have twisted ourselves into such contortions otherwise. I think you were fed up with Caroline – probably more fed up than you realized, and perhaps there were other reasons too that I know nothing about. Difficulties at Van Zale’s with Cornelius perhaps? But whatever was going on you came to England in dire need of a grand glamorous affair to cheer you up, and there was I, Paul’s mistress—’

‘That goddamned best friend of mine!’

‘Yes, this was his legacy to us, Steve. I told you the truth that day in the sandhills at Waxham. I was very lonely and you were very attractive – but when all was said and done I wanted you because you were Paul’s friend. I was in love not with you but with what you represented to me. I was reaching back into the past, and in order to get back into the past I had to act. I knew you’d never accept me as I really was.’

‘But I did!’

‘No, Steve. You backed away.’

I reminded him that he had pretended to be such a sportsman, so fond of fair play, so willing to be generous towards emancipated women.

‘Yet what was the truth?’ I said. ‘You tolerated Caroline’s emancipation because it was no threat to you; beyond all her tough talk Caroline wasn’t in the least emancipated. You tolerated my emancipation because although I was a success in the business world, my success never encroached on your territory. I was
tactfully
emancipated. But once I started talking to you in terms of money and power and the bank I was suddenly right there batting on your wicket, a potential rival, and you responded just as you would have responded to a challenge by Cornelius – not sportingly, because you’re no sportsman, Steve! Sportsmen don’t survive long in the kind of world you live in. You responded by fighting back as dirtily as you knew how.’

‘I must have been nuts!’ he groaned.

‘You were certainly flattering! Most women complain that men don’t
take them seriously but you took me too seriously! Later it occurred to me I should have accepted your horrified reaction as a compliment.’

‘You mean you didn’t want the bank? But Dinah,’ said Steve innocently, voicing a variation on the question which Freud – significantly – had never been able to answer, ‘what is it you really want?’

I sighed. ‘Steve, it’s no big mystery. I want what we all want. I want to love and be loved. I want to be secure and happy. I want a home and family and a job which allows me to use my own individual gifts. I thought I could make a success of banking and I still think I could, but if I never get the opportunity to enter a bank I’ve no doubt I’ll live. I’m certainly not going to go jumping off Westminster Bridge in a fit of pique. What the devil did you think I was going to do if you gave me the chance to enter Van Zale’s? Stab all the Milk Street men – yourself included – in the back, weight your bodies with cement blocks and throw them in the Thames? Darling, I leave such behaviour thankfully to you Americans!’

‘You mean you didn’t sleep with me just because—’

‘My dear Steve!’ I couldn’t help myself. I had to reach across the table and slip my hand comfortingly into his. ‘I’m not Madame de Maintenon or Alice Perrers. I don’t seek power through the royal bedchamber. God knows I have enough power at the office, and when I stagger home to my lover the very last thing I want to do is prostitute myself in the name of more power!’

‘I’m sorry.’ He was genuinely ashamed. ‘It’s just that women do do that kind of thing, and—’

‘So do men,’ I said. ‘Paul slept his way into his own private banking firm when he married Marietta but everyone thought it was a clever sensible thing to do. Aren’t double-standards fascinating?’ I was wondering whether we should adjourn to the drawing-room but I was afraid that once I’d got him upstairs I’d never get him down again. I poured myself another brandy instead. ‘Talking of the Van Zale family,’ I said, ‘I just couldn’t believe it when I heard you’d married Emily.’

That casual statement hardly reflected my past rage, jealousy and searing sense of loss, but I saw no point in becoming too emotional. I told him levelly that after I had heard of his marriage I had abandoned all hope of a reconciliation although for the twins’ sake I had felt obliged to keep in touch with him; my experience with Alan had taught me that even an absent father was better than a dead one. ‘… and I still don’t understand why you married her,’ I added to keep the conversation on an even keel.

He talked of the state he had been in when he had arrived home in 1929. ‘… and suddenly in the midst of all these disasters there was Emily …’

I lit another cigarette and tried not to think how wonderful Emily sounded.

‘… and I felt so grateful to her that when I found out she wanted to marry me I thought: well, why not? The kids were crazy about her. They kept dropping little hints about marriage and so did everyone else, even Cornelius.’

‘But why should Cornelius—’

‘That kid
would sell his own mother up the river if he could make a nickel profit on the deal!’

That sounded more like the Steve I remembered, but I was disturbed to see the subject of Cornelius still obsessed him.

‘… but I’ve finally figured out a way to railroad the little bastard all the way out of One Willow Street!’ he concluded triumphantly.

I smelt New York, the glittering barbarism, the wicked steamy heat, the primitive lawlessness of a ‘wide-open’ town.

‘So that’s why you’ve left Emily,’ I said slowly.

‘Hell, no!’ he protested. ‘I’ve left Emily because she was driving me to drink – but that’s another story. No, the point is that now I’ve left her I’ll have no peace till I’ve got rid of Cornelius, and since I’ve known for some months that Emily and I were headed for disaster I’ve done my best to plan for the future. If you want to know the truth I’ve done a secret deal with Lewis Carson and we’re all set to go full steam ahead. The kid doesn’t stand a chance.’

I thought of all I had heard about Cornelius. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure!’ He was sighing in ecstasy, all his troubles forgotten, and as his blue eyes became misty with the thought of future triumphs he added dreamily: ‘Have you ever heard of the Glass–Steagall Banking Act?’

[4]

The Glass–Steagall Banking Act which Roosevelt had signed into law in mid-June of that year could be compared with a flock of pigeons – the investment bankers’ pigeons which had come home to roost. It was part of Roosevelt’s New Deal for Wall Street, a legislative attempt to ensure that the events of October, 1929, would never be repeated. Gone were the unregulated market, the despotism of the bankers and the gaudiest trappings of private enterprise. Egged on by an outraged public opinion the federal government was moving into territory previously held by private individuals. The Securities Act, the first law aimed at Wall Street reform, contented itself by forcing corporations and investment firms to behave with greater integrity towards the people whose money they sought, but the structure of the investment banking houses had been untouched. It was left to the Glass–Steagall Banking Act to rip that structure apart. The government wanted complete separation of investment and commercial banking. No longer would the bankers be able to operate their own personal gambling machine where the odds always favoured the house. Private investment banking houses such as Van Zale’s had to choose between deposit and investment banking, and the divorce was so noisy that even the City of London had been deafened by the howls of outrage from Wall Street.

‘Roosevelt’s trouble,’ said Steve bitterly, ‘is that he doesn’t understand finance. This act’s going to disrupt all the established ways of underwriting and distributing securities, and reduce the amount of capital available to
float new issues. If we choose to remain investment bankers we lose all our deposit business – our working capital. If we choose deposit banking we become just like a commercial bank, required to submit to government examination and supervision. Whatever we do we’re castrated.’

‘But not for long, I’m sure,’ I said. ‘Americans are always so clever at solving problems.’

‘Well, it’s funny you should say that. There’s a rumour that Morgan’s …’

The partners of the House of Morgan had decided that the firm should withdraw from investment banking but not, according to the gossips, for long. The theory was that once investment banking showed signs of recovery Morgan’s would return to the game under a different name. There would be two separate Morgans, divorced by the law as required by the Glass–Steagall Banking Act but linked by the subtle ties of friendship which not even Roosevelt could prevent by legislation.

‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘Let me guess. You’re going to follow in the House of Morgan’s footsteps.’

‘Not quite. Lewis and I have decided that Van Zale’s is going to stick with investment banking. It’ll be very rough at first, but if we tighten our belts we can hold on until we set up a second Van Zale’s to handle the deposit banking – a commercial bank of our own which we can borrow from whenever we like. It’s the Morgan principle but applied in reverse.’

I tried to imagine what it would cost to launch a new bank. ‘Where are you going to get the money?’ I said curiously. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘The little bastard’s going to produce the money! They say Jack Morgan’s going to sell his art collection to set up his son in the second Morgan bank, so why shouldn’t Cornelius sell a few Rembrandts to set himself up in the second Van Zale’s?’

The light dawned. ‘You’re going to oust Cornelius from Willow and Wall by offering him the top job at the commercial bank!’

‘Exactly!’ He beamed with pride. ‘Isn’t that a great idea? Cornelius gets all the independence and power he can possibly want and Lewis and I get him out of our hair once and for all. Then when Lewis retires—’

‘Wait a minute, Steve. Doesn’t there have to be very close cooperation between the two banks? Even though you have to be divorced by law didn’t you just say you have to be married by gentleman’s agreement?’

‘But that’s the glory of it!’ said Steve happily. ‘Cornelius won’t cut off his nose to spite his face. His survival will depend on ours and vice versa. He’ll just have to get along with us, and anyway once he’s out of One Willow Street that won’t be so difficult. We’ll work out a truce.’

‘Steve, I hate to remind you but you’ve just walked out on his sister.’

‘Honey, don’t be naïve!’ He stared at me. ‘Cornelius isn’t the kind of guy who would ever let a personal relationship stand in the way of a successful business deal!’

‘Well, I suppose that is just possible.’ I glanced at the ice in the ice-bucket. The cubes were shiny, pristine and cold. ‘Steve, your opinion of my naïvety is going to soar to new heights but I must just ask one last question. What makes
you so sure Cornelius is going to fall in with this gorgeous scheme of yours?’

‘He’s got no choice!’ Still fired by the glory of his plans he gave me a sketch of the balance of power at Van Zale’s. Old Walter had died, Clay Linden had moved to another house and Martin Cookson too was on the brink of resigning. Both Clay and Martin had been irked by Cornelius’ rapid rise to power. The remaining partners, carefully handpicked by Steve and Lewis, would know whom they had to support in a crisis. ‘The fact is,’ said Steve, ‘that so long as Lewis and I hang together there’s no way Cornelius can get around us. He could be difficult about the money – all right, I concede that. But if the worst comes to the worst we’ll find some other way to scrape up the money for the new bank, and anyway my whole point is that Cornelius isn’t going to make trouble because he’s going to be thrilled with the idea. All that power! He’ll hardly be able to wait to get out from under our feet! Of course we’ll have to send a couple of the new partners along with him to keep him on the rails, but he’s a bright boy and commercial banking’s straightforward. He’ll have a nice glamorous office and a cute secretary and his old pal Sam Keller and he’s going to have the time of his life. Lucky little kid! Imagine being a bank president at his age! He ought to go down on his knees and thank me and Lewis for making it all possible!’