Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  “Good morning, Koskiewicz.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

  “I no had breakfast, sir.”

  “Why not?” said the Second Consul, looking toward the corporal.

  “Overslept, I’m afraid, sir. He would have been late for you.”

  “Well, we must see what we can do about that. Corporal, will you ask Mrs. Henderson to rustle up an apple or something?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wladek and the Second Consul walked slowly along the corridor toward the front door of the embassy and across the pebbled courtyard to a waiting car, an Austin, one of the few engine-driven vehicles in Turkey and Wladek’s first journey in a private car. He was sorry to be leaving the British embassy. It was the first place in which he had felt safe for years. He wondered if he was ever going to sleep more than one night in the same bed for the rest of his life. The corporal ran down the steps and took the driver’s seat. He passed Wladek an apple and some warm fresh bread.

  “See there are no crumbs left in the car, lad. The cook sends her compliments.”

  The drive through the hot, busy streets was conducted at walking pace as the Turks did not believe anything could go faster than a camel and made no attempt to clear a path for the little Austin. Even with all the windows open Wladek was sweating from the oppressive heat while Mr. Prendergast remained quite cool and unperturbed. Wladek tried to hide himself in the back of the car for fear that someone who had witnessed the previous day’s events might recognize him and stir the mob to anger again. When the little black Austin came to a halt outside a small, decaying building marked KONSULAT POLSKI, Wladek felt a twinge of excitement mingled with disappointment.

  The three of them climbed out.

  “Where’s the apple core, boy?” demanded the corporal.

  “I eat him.”

  The corporal laughed and knocked on the door. A friendly-looking little man, with dark hair and a firm jaw, opened it. He was in shirt sleeves and deeply tanned, obviously by the Turkish sun. He addressed them in Polish. His words were the first Wladek had heard in his native tongue since leaving the labor camp. Wladek answered quickly, explaining his presence. His fellow countryman turned to the British Second Consul.

  “This way, Mr. Prendergast,” he said in perfect English. “It was good of you to bring the boy over personally.”

  A few diplomatic niceties were exchanged before Prendergast and the corporal took their leave. Wladek gazed at them, fumbling for an English expression more adequate than “Thank you.”

  Prendergast patted Wladek on the head as he might a cocker spaniel. And as the corporal closed the door, he winked at Wladek. “Good luck, my lad. God knows you deserve it.”

  The Polish Consul introduced himself to Wladek as Pawel Zaleski. Again Wladek was required to recount the story of his life, finding it easier in Polish than he had in English. Pawel Zaleski heard him out in silence, shaking his head sorrowfully.

  “My poor child,” he said heavily. “You have borne more than your share of our country’s suffering for one so young. And now what are we to do with you?”

  “I must return to Poland and reclaim my castle,” said Wladek.

  “Poland,” said Pawel Zaleski. “Where’s that? The area of land where you lived remains in dispute and there is still heavy fighting going on between the Poles and the Russians. General Pilsudski is doing all he can to protect the territorial integrity of our fatherland. But it would be foolish for any of us to be optimistic. There is little left for you now in Poland. No, your best plan would be to start a new life in England or America.”

  “But I don’t want to go to England or America. I am Polish.”

  “You will always be Polish, Wladek—no one can take that away from you wherever you decide to settle. But you must be realistic about your life—which has hardly even begun.”

  Wladek lowered his head in despair. Had he gone through all this only to be told he could never return to his native land? He fought back the tears.

  Pawel Zaleski put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Never forget that you are one of the lucky ones who escaped, who came out alive. You only have to remember your friend Dr. Dubien to be aware of what life might have been like.”

  Wladek didn’t speak.

  “Now you must put all thoughts of the past behind you and think only of the future, Wladek, and perhaps in your lifetime you will see Poland rise again, which is more than I dare hope for.”

  Wladek remained silent.

  “Well, there’s no need to make an immediate decision,” the Consul said kindly. “You can stay here for as long as it takes to decide on your future.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The future was something that was worrying Anne. The first few months of her marriage were happy, marred only by her anxiety over William’s increasing dislike of Henry, and her new husband’s seeming inability to start working. Henry was a little touchy on the point, explaining to Anne that he was still disoriented by the war and that he wasn’t willing to rush into something he might well be stuck with for the rest of his life. She found this hard to swallow and finally the matter brought on their first row.

  “I don’t understand why you haven’t opened that real estate business you used to be so keen on, Henry.”

  “I can’t. The time isn’t quite right. The realty market doesn’t look that promising at the moment.”

  “You’ve been saying that now for nearly a year. I wonder if it will ever be promising enough for you.”

  “Sure it will. Truth is, I need a little more capital to get myself started. Now, if you would let me have some of your money, I could get cracking tomorrow.”

  “That’s impossible, Henry. You know the terms of Richard’s will. My allowance was stopped the day we were married and now I have only the capital left.”

  “A little of that would help me to get going, and don’t forget that precious boy of yours has well over twenty million in the family trust.”

  “You seem to know a lot about William’s trust,” Anne said suspiciously.

  “Oh, come on, Anne, give me a chance to be your husband. Don’t make me feel like a guest in my own home.”

  “What’s happened to your money, Henry? You always led me to believe you had enough to start your own business.”

  “You’ve always known I was not in Richard’s class financially, and there was a time, Anne, when you claimed it didn’t matter. ‘I’d marry you, Henry, if you were penniless,’” he mocked.

  Anne burst into tears, and Henry tried to console her. She spent the rest of the evening in his arms talking the problem over. Anne managed to convince herself she was being unwifely and ungenerous. She had more money than she could possibly need; couldn’t she entrust a little of it to the man to whom she was so willing to entrust the rest of her life?

  Acting upon these thoughts, she agreed to let Henry have $100,000 to set up his own real estate firm in Boston. Within a month Henry had found a smart new office in a fashionable part of town, appointed a staff and started work. Soon he was mixing with the important city politicians and real estate men in Boston. They talked of the boom in farmland and they flattered Henry. Anne didn’t care very much for them as social company, but Henry was happy and appeared to be successful at his work.

  When William was fifteen he was in his third year at St. Paul’s, sixth in his class overall and first in mathematics. He had also become a rising figure in the Debating Society. He wrote to his mother once a week, reporting his progress, always addressing his letters to Mrs. Richard Kane, refusing to acknowledge that Henry Osborne even existed. Anne wasn’t sure whether she should talk to him about it, and each Monday she would carefully extract William’s letter from the box to be certain that Henry never saw the envelope. She continued to hope that in time William would come around to liking Henry, but it became clear that that hope was unrealistic when, in one particular letter to his mother, William sought her