Kane & Abel (1979) Read online

  ‘Full name?’ the officer asked George.

  ‘George Novak,’ came the firm reply. The officer wrote the name on a card.

  ‘And your address?’ he asked.

  ‘286 Broome Street, New York.’

  The officer passed George a card. ‘This is your immigration certificate: MDL21871707 - George Novak. Welcome to the United States, George. I’m from Poland too. I have a feeling you’ll do well in America. Many congratulations, and good luck, George.’

  George smiled and shook hands with the officer, then stood to one side and waited for his friend. The official turned his attention to Wladek, who passed over the card marked ‘Admitted.’

  ‘Full name?’ asked the officer.

  Wladek hesitated.

  ‘What’s your name?’ repeated the man, a little louder.

  Wladek couldn’t get the words out. How he hated that peasant name.

  ‘For the last time, what’s your name?’ the man insisted.

  George was staring at Wladek. So were several others who were waiting in line behind him. Wladek still didn’t speak. The officer reached across and grabbed his wrist, looked closely at the inscription on the silver band, wrote something down on a card and passed it to Wladek.

  ‘This is your immigration certificate, MDL21871708 - Baron Abel Rosnovski. Welcome to the United States. Many congratulations, and good luck, Abel.’

  PART TWO

  1923-1928

  22

  IN SEPTEMBER 1923 William was elected president of the senior class of St Paul’s, exactly thirty-three years after his father had held the same office.

  William did not win the election by virtue of being the finest athlete or the most popular boy in the school. Matthew Lester, his closest friend, would undoubtedly have won any contest based on those criteria. It was simply that William was the most impressive boy in the school and for that reason Matthew could not be persuaded to run against him.

  St Paul’s also entered William’s name as its candidate for the Hamilton Memorial Mathematics Scholarship to Harvard, and William worked single-mindedly towards that goal every waking hour.

  When he returned to the Red House for Christmas, he was looking forward to an uninterrupted period in which to get to grips with Principia Mathematica. But it was not to be, as there were several invitations to parties and balls awaiting his arrival. To most of them he was able to reply with a tactful message of regret, but one was absolutely inescapable. The grandmothers had arranged a ball, to be held at the Red House. William wondered how old he would have to be before he could defend his home against invasion from the two great ladies, and decided that time had not yet come. He had few close friends in Boston, but that did not inhibit the grandmothers in their compilation of a formidable guest list.

  To mark the occasion they presented William with his first tuxedo, in the latest double-breasted style; he received the gift with a pretence of indifference, but later swaggered around his bedroom, admiring his image in the mirror.

  The next day he put through a long-distance call to New York and asked Matthew to join him for the ‘ghastly affair’. Matthew’s sister wanted to come as well, but her mother didn’t think it would be ‘suitable’ unless she was accompanied by a chaperone.

  William was standing on the platform when Matthew stepped off the train.

  ‘Come to think of it,’ said Matthew as the chauffeur drove them to Beacon Hill, ‘isn’t it time you got yourself laid, William? There must be one girl in Boston with absolutely no taste.’

  ‘Why, have you had a girl, Matthew?’

  ‘Sure, last December in New York.’

  ‘What was I doing at the time?’

  ‘Probably touching up Bertrand Russell.’

  ‘You never told me about her.’

  ‘Nothing much to tell. It all happened at the bank’s Christmas staff party. Actually, to put the incident in its proper perspective, I was taken advantage of by one of the directors’ secretaries, a comely lady called Cynthia with large breasts that wobbled when …’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not sure Cynthia did. She was far too drunk to realize I was there at the time. Still, you have to begin somewhere, and she was willing to give the boss’s son a helping hand.’

  A vision of Alan Lloyd’s prim, middle-aged secretary flashed across William’s mind.

  ‘I don’t think my chances of initiation by the chairman’s secretary are all that promising,’ he mused.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Matthew knowingly. ‘The ones who go around with their legs clamped together are often the ones who can’t wait to get them apart.’

  ‘Matthew, on the basis of one drunken experience, you are hardly entitled to consider yourself an oracle,’ said William, as the car drew up outside the Red House.

  ‘Oh, such jealousy, and from one’s dearest friend,’ Matthew sighed mockingly, as they entered the house. ‘Wow! You’ve certainly made some changes since I was last here,’ he added, admiring the modern cane furniture and the new paisley wallpaper. Only the maroon leather chair remained firmly rooted in its usual spot.

  ‘The place needed brightening up a little,’ said William. ‘It was like living in the Stone Age. Besides, I didn’t want to be reminded of … Come on, this is no time to hang around discussing interior decoration.’

  ‘What time are the guests expected for your little party?’

  ‘Ball, Matthew - the grandmothers insist on calling it a ball.’

  ‘There’s only one thing that can be described as a ball on these occasions.’

  William laughed and looked at his watch. ‘They should start arriving in a couple of hours. Time for a bath and to get changed. Did you remember to bring a tuxedo?’

  ‘Yes. But if I hadn’t I could always wear my pyjamas. I usually leave one or the other behind, but I’ve never yet managed to forget both.’

  ‘I don’t think the grandmothers would approve of you turning up for the ball in your pyjamas.’

  The caterers arrived at six o’clock, twenty-three of them in all, and the grandmothers at seven to oversee the preparations, regal in long black lace dresses that swept along the floor. William and Matthew joined them in the drawing room a few minutes before eight. William was about to remove an inviting red cherry from the top of a magnificent iced cake when he heard Grandmother Kane’s sentinel voice behind him.

  ‘Don’t touch the food, William, it’s not for you.’ He swung around. ‘Then who is it for?’ he asked, as he kissed her cheek.

  ‘Don’t be fresh, William. Just because you’re over six feet doesn’t mean I wouldn’t spank you.’

  Matthew laughed.

  ‘Grandmother, may I introduce my closest friend, Matthew Lester?’

  Grandmother Kane subjected Matthew to a careful appraisal through her pince-nez before venturing: ‘How do you do, young man?’

  ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Mrs Kane. I believe you knew my grandfather.’

  ‘Knew your grandfather? Caleb Longworth Lester? He proposed marriage to me once, over fifty years ago. Of course, I turned him down. I told him he drank too much and that it would lead him to an early grave. I was proved right, so don’t follow his example, either of you. Remember, alcohol dulls the brain.’

  ‘We hardly get much chance, with Prohibition,’ remarked Matthew innocently.

  Mrs Kane ignored the comment, and turned her attention to the guest list.

  The guests began to appear soon after eight, many of them complete strangers to their host, although he was delighted to see Alan Lloyd among the early arrivals.

  ‘You’re looking well, my boy,’ Alan said, finding himself looking up at William for the first time.

  ‘You too, sir. It was kind of you to come.’

  ‘Kind? Have you forgotten that the invitation came from your grandmothers? I’m possibly brave enough to refuse one of them, but both …’

  ‘You too, Alan?’ William laughed. ‘Can you spare a m