Sons of Fortune Read online

  By the time he arrived back at the hotel that evening, Nat was exhausted and laden down with six shopping bags, mostly full of presents for his wife. He took the elevator to the third floor, and as he pushed open the door to their room, he hoped to find that Su Ling had returned from visiting her great aunt. As he closed the door, he thought he heard sobbing. He stood still. The unmistakable sound was coming from the bedroom.

  Nat dropped the bags on the floor, walked across the room and pushed open the bedroom door. Su Ling was curled up on the bed, like an unsprung coil, weeping. He slipped off his shoes and jacket and climbed onto the bed beside her and took her in his arms.

  “What is it, little flower?” he said, caressing her gently.

  She didn’t reply. Nat held her close, aware that she would tell him in her own time.

  When it grew dark and the neon streetlights began to flicker on, Nat drew the curtains. He then sat beside her and took her hand.

  “I will always love you,” said Su Ling, not looking directly at him.

  “And I’ll always love you,” said Nat, taking her back into his arms.

  “Do you remember the night of our marriage, we agreed on no secrets, so I must now tell you what I discovered this afternoon.”

  Nat had never seen a face so sad. “Nothing you found out could make me love you less,” he said, trying to reassure her.

  Su Ling pulled her husband toward her while lowering her head on to his chest, as if she didn’t want their eyes to meet. “I kept my appointment with my great aunt this morning,” she began. “She remembered my mother well, and explained to me why she had left the village to join her in Seoul.” As she clung on to Nat, Su Ling repeated everything Kai Pai had told her. When she had finished her story, she eased away and looked up at her husband for the first time.

  “Can you still love me now you know the truth?” she asked.

  “I didn’t believe it was possible to love you any more, and I can only imagine what courage it must have taken to share this news with me.” He paused. “It will only strengthen a bond that now no one will ever be able to break.”

  “I don’t think it would be wise for me to go with you,” said Annie.

  “But you’re my lucky mascot, and…”

  “…and Dr. Redpath says it wouldn’t be wise.” Fletcher reluctantly accepted that he would have to make the journey to New York alone. Annie was in her seventh month of pregnancy, and although there had been no complications, he never argued with the doctor.

  Fletcher had been delighted to be invited back for a second interview with Alexander Dupont & Bell, and wondered how many of the other candidates had been short-listed. He had a feeling Karl Abrahams knew, though the professor wasn’t sharing any confidences.

  When the train pulled into Central Station, Fletcher took a taxi to 54th Street, arriving outside the vast entrance lobby twenty minutes early. He had been told that on one occasion a candidate had arrived three minutes late, so they didn’t bother to interview him.

  He took the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor and was directed by the receptionist to a spacious room that was almost as smart as the senior partner’s office. Fletcher sat alone and wondered if that was a good sign, until a second candidate joined him a few minutes before nine. He smiled at Fletcher.

  “Logan Fitzgerald,” he said, his hand outstretched. “I heard you address the freshman debate at Yale. Your speech on Vietnam was brilliant, although I didn’t agree with a word you said.”

  “You were at Yale?”

  “No, I was visiting my brother. I went to Princeton, and I guess we both know why we’re here.”

  “How many others are there, do you imagine?” asked Fletcher.

  “Looking at the clock, I would suggest we’re the last two. So all I can say is good luck.”

  “I am sure you mean that sincerely,” said Fletcher with a grin.

  The door opened and a woman who Fletcher remembered as Mr. Alexander’s secretary addressed them. “Gentlemen, if you’ll come this way,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Townsend,” said Fletcher, whose father had once told him never to forget a secretary’s name—after all, they spend more time with the boss than his wife ever does. The two candidates followed her out of the room, and Fletcher wondered if Logan could possibly be as nervous as he was. On either side of the long carpeted corridor the names of the partners were lettered in gold beside each oak-paneled door they passed. William Alexander’s was the last before the conference room.

  Mrs. Townsend knocked gently on the door, opened it and stood to one side as twenty-five men and three women rose from their places and began to applaud.

  “Please be seated,” said Bill Alexander, once the applause had died down. “May I be the first to congratulate you both on being offered the opportunity to join Alexander Dupont and Bell, but be warned, the next time you’ll hear such approbation from your colleagues will be when you’re invited to become a partner, and that won’t be for at least seven years. During the morning you will have meetings with different members of the executive committee who between them should be able to answer any of your questions. Fletcher, you have been assigned to Matthew Cunliffe, who heads up our criminal office, while you, Logan, will report directly to Graham Simpson in mergers and acquisitions. At twelve thirty, you will both return and join the partners for lunch.”

  The midday meal turned out to be a friendly affair after the grueling process of interviews; the partners stopped behaving like Mr. Hyde and reverted to being Dr. Jekyll. Roles they played every day with clients and adversaries.

  “They tell me that you are both going to be top of your respective classes,” said Bill Alexander, after the main course was served—there had been no first course or drink supplied, other than bottled water. “And I can only hope so, because I haven’t yet decided which offices to assign you to.”

  “And should one of us flunk?” asked Fletcher nervously.

  “Then you will spend your first year in the mail room, delivering briefs to other law firms,” Mr. Alexander paused. “On foot.” No one laughed, and Fletcher couldn’t be sure if he meant it. The senior partner was about to continue when there was a knock on the door and his secretary reappeared.

  “There’s a call for you on line three, Mr. Alexander.”

  “I said no interruptions, Mrs. Townsend.”

  “It’s an emergency, sir.”

  Bill Alexander picked up the boardroom phone; the scowl on his face turned to a smile as he listened intently. “I’ll let him know,” he said and put the phone down.

  “Let me be the first to congratulate you, Fletcher,” said the senior partner. Fletcher was puzzled because he knew final grades wouldn’t be published for at least another week. “You’re the proud father of a little girl. Mother and daughter are doing just fine. I knew the moment I met that girl she was just the kind of woman we appreciate at Alexander Dupont and Bell.”

  24

  “Lucy.”

  “But what about Ruth or Martha?”

  “We can give her all three names,” said Fletcher, “which will make both our mothers happy, but we’ll call her Lucy.” He smiled as he gently placed his daughter back in her crib.

  “And have you thought about where we’re going to live?” asked Annie. “I don’t want Lucy brought up in New York.”

  “I agree,” said Fletcher, as he tickled his daughter under the chin, “I’ve been talking to Matt Cunliffe and he told me he faced the same problem when he joined the firm.”

  “So what does Matt recommend?”

  “He suggested three or four small towns in New Jersey that are less than an hour away by train from Penn Station. So I thought we might drive up there next Friday and spend a long weekend seeing if there’s any particular area we like.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to rent a place to begin with,” said Annie, “until we’ve saved enough to buy something of our own.”

  “It seems not, because the firm would prefer us to