Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  “Ah, Mr. Kane,” said Thomas Cohen, “how nice to see you again. Would you care for some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Shall I send someone out for a Coca-Cola?”

  William’s face was expressionless.

  “To business, to business,” said Mr. Cohen, slightly embarrassed. “We have dug around a little on your behalf, Mr. Kane, with the help of a very respectable firm of private investigators to assist us with the questions you asked that were not purely academic. I think I can safely say we have the answers to all your questions. You asked if Mr. Osborne’s offspring by your mother, were there to be any, would have a claim on the Kane estate, or in particular on the trust left to you by your father. No is the simple answer, but of course Mrs. Osborne can leave any part of the five hundred thousand dollars bequeathed to her by your father to whom she pleases.”

  Mr. Cohen looked up.

  “However, it may interest you to know, Mr. Kane, that your mother has drawn out the entire five hundred thousand from her private account at Kane and Cabot during the last eighteen months, but we have been unable to trace how the money has been used. It is possible she might have decided to deposit the amount in another bank.”

  William looked shocked, the first sign of any lack of the self-control, which Thomas Cohen noted.

  “There would be no reason for her to do that,” William said. “The money can only have gone to one person.”

  The lawyer remained silent, expecting to hear more, but William steadied himself and added nothing, so Mr. Cohen continued.

  “The answer to your second question is that you have no personal or legal obligations to Mr. Henry Osborne at all. Under the terms of your father’s will, your mother is a trustee of the estate along with a Mr. Alan Lloyd and a Mrs. John Preston, your surviving godparents, until you come of age at twenty-one.”

  Thomas Cohen looked up again. William’s face showed no expression at all. Cohen had already learned that that meant he should continue.

  “And thirdly, Mr. Kane, you can never remove Mr. Osborne from Beacon Hill as long as he remains married to your mother and continues to reside with her. The property comes into your possession by natural right on her death. Were he still alive then, you could require him to leave. I think you will find that covers all your questions, Mr. Kane.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cohen,” said William. “I am obliged for your efficiency and discretion in this matter. Now, perhaps you could let me know your professional charges?”

  “One hundred dollars doesn’t quite cover the work, Mr. Kane, but we have faith in your future and——”

  “I do not wish to be beholden to anyone, Mr. Cohen. You must treat me as someone with whom you might never deal again. With that in mind, how much do I owe you?”

  Mr. Cohen considered the matter for a moment. “In those circumstances, we would have charged you two hundred and twenty dollars, Mr. Kane.”

  William took six $20 bills from his inside pocket and handed them over to Cohen. This time, the lawyer did not count them.

  “I am grateful to you for your assistance, Mr. Cohen. I am sure we shall meet again. Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, Mr. Kane. May I be permitted to say that I never had the privilege of meeting your distinguished father, but having dealt with you, I wish that I had.”

  William smiled and softened. “Thank you, sir.”

  Preparing for the baby kept Anne fully occupied; she found herself easily tired and resting a good deal. Whenever she inquired of Henry how business was going, he always had some answer plausible enough to reassure her that all was well without supplying her any actual details.

  Then one morning the anonymous letters started coming again. This time they gave more details—the names of the women involved and the places they could be seen with Henry. Anne burned them even before she could commit the names or places to memory. She didn’t want to believe that her husband could be unfaithful while she was carrying his child. Someone was jealous and had it in for Henry and he or she had to be lying.

  The letters kept coming, sometimes with new names. Anne still continued to destroy them, but they were now beginning to prey on her mind. She wanted to discuss the whole problem with someone but couldn’t think of anybody in whom she could confide. The grandmothers would have been appalled and were, in any case, already prejudiced against Henry. Alan Lloyd at the bank could not be expected to understand, as he had never married, and William was far too young. No one seemed suitable. Anne considered consulting a psychiatrist after listening to a lecture given by Sigmund Freud, but a Cabot could never discuss a family problem with a complete stranger.

  The matter finally came to a head in a way that even Anne had not been prepared for. One Monday morning she received three letters, the usual one from William addressed to Mrs. Richard Kane, asking if he could once again spend his summer vacation with his friend Matthew Lester. Another anonymous letter alleging that Henry was having an affair with, with … Milly Preston; and the third from Alan Lloyd, as chairman of the bank, asking if she would be kind enough to telephone and make an appointment to see him. Anne sat down heavily, feeling breathless and unwell, and forced herself to reread all three letters. William’s letter stung her by its detachment. She hated knowing that he preferred to spend his summer with Matthew Lester. They had been steadily growing further apart since her marriage to Henry. The anonymous letter suggesting that Henry was having an affair with her closest friend was impossible to ignore. Anne couldn’t help remembering that it had been Milly who had introduced her to Henry in the first place, and that she was William’s godmother. The third letter, from Alan Lloyd, who had become chairman of Kane and Cabot after Richard’s death, somehow filled her with even more apprehension. The only other letter she had ever received from Alan was one of condolence on the death of Richard. She feared that this one could only mean more bad news.

  She called the bank. The operator put her straight through.

  “Alan, you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, my dear, I would like to have a chat sometime. When would suit you?”

  “Is it bad news?” asked Anne.

  “Not exactly, but I would rather not say anything over the phone. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Are you free for lunch by any chance?”

  “Yes I am, Alan.”

  “Well, let’s meet at the Ritz at one o’clock. I look forward to seeing you then, Anne.”

  One o’clock, only three hours away. Her mind switched from Alan to William to Henry but settled on Milly Preston. Could it be true? Anne decided to take a long warm bath and put on a new dress. It didn’t help. She felt, and was beginning to look, bloated. Her ankles and calves, which had always been so elegant and so slim, were becoming mottled and puffy. It was a little frightening to conjecture how much worse things might become before the baby was born. She sighed at herself in the mirror and did the best she could with her outward appearance.

  “You look very smart, Anne. If I weren’t an old bachelor considered well past it, I’d flirt with you shamelessly,” said the silver-haired banker, greeting her with a kiss on both cheeks as though he were a French general. He guided her to his table.

  It was an unspoken tradition that the table in the corner was always occupied by the chairman of Kane and Cabot if he was not lunching at the bank. Richard had done so and now it was the turn of Alan Lloyd. It was the first time Anne had sat at the table with anyone. Waiters fluttered around them like starlings, seeming to know exactly when to disappear and reappear without interrupting a private conversation.

  “When’s the baby due, Anne?”

  “Oh, not for another three months.”

  “No complications, I hope. I seem to remember—”

  “Well,” admitted Anne, “the doctor sees me once a week and pulls long faces about my blood pressure, but I’m not too worried.”

  “I’m so glad, my dear,” he said, and touched her hand gently as an uncle might. “You do lo