Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  “Then the time has come for me to depart this world,” said Grandmother Cabot, wincing.

  “Never,” Alan Lloyd said gallantly.

  William danced with a couple of girls whom he had a vague recollection of knowing, but he had to be reminded of their names, and when he spotted Matthew sitting in a corner, he was glad of the excuse to escape the dance floor. He had not noticed the girl sitting next to Matthew until he was right on top of them. When she looked up into William’s eyes, he felt his knees give way.

  “Do you know Abby Blount?” asked Matthew casually.

  “No,” said William, barely restraining himself from straightening his tie.

  “This is your host, Mr. William Lowell Kane.”

  The young lady cast her eyes demurely downward as William took the seat on the other side of her. Matthew had noted the look William had given Abby and went off in search of some punch.

  “How is it I’ve lived in Boston all my life and we’ve never met?” William said.

  “We did meet once before. On that occasion you pushed me into the pond on the Common; we were both three at the time. It’s taken me fourteen years to recover.”

  “I am sorry,” said William after a pause during which he searched in vain for more telling repartee.

  “What a lovely house you have, William.”

  There was a second busy pause. “Thank you,” said William weakly. He glanced sideways at Abby, trying to look as though he were not studying her. She was slim—oh, so slim—with huge brown eyes, long eyelashes and a profile that captivated William. Abby had bobbed her auburn hair in a style William had hated until that moment.

  “Matthew tells me you are going to Harvard next year,” she tried again.

  “Yes, I am. I mean, would you like to dance?”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The steps that had come so easily a few minutes before seemed now to forsake him. He trod on her toes and continually propelled her into other dancers. He apologized, she smiled. He held her a little more closely and they danced on.

  “Do we know that young lady who seems to have been monopolizing William for the last hour?” Grandmother Cabot said suspiciously.

  Grandmother Kane picked up her pince-nez and studied the girl accompanying William as he strolled through the open bay windows out onto the lawn.

  “Abby Blount,” Grandmother Kane declared.

  “Admiral Blount’s granddaughter?” inquired Grandmother Cabot.

  “Yes.”

  Grandmother Cabot nodded a degree of approval.

  William guided Abby Blount toward the far end of the garden and stopped by a large chestnut tree that he had used in the past only for climbing.

  “Do you always try to kiss a girl the first time you meet her?” asked Abby.

  “To be honest,” said William, “I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

  Abby laughed. “I’m very flattered.”

  She offered first her pink cheek and then her rosy, pursed lips and then insisted upon returning indoors. The grandmothers observed their early reentry with some relief.

  Later, in William’s bedroom, the two boys discussed the evening.

  “Not a bad party,” said Matthew. “Almost worth the trip from New York out here to the provinces, despite your stealing my girl.”

  “Do you think she’ll help me lose my virginity?” asked William, ignoring Matthew’s mock accusation.

  “Well, you have three weeks to find out, but I fear you’ll discover she hasn’t lost hers yet,” said Matthew. “Such is my expertise in these matters that I’m willing to bet you five dollars she doesn’t succumb even to the charms of William Lowell Kane.”

  William planned a careful stratagem. Virginity was one thing, but losing five dollars to Matthew was quite another. He saw Abby Blount nearly every day after the ball, taking advantage for the first time of owning his own house and car at seventeen. He began to feel he would do better without the discreet but persistent chaperonage of Abby’s parents, who seemed always to be in the middle distance, and he was not perceptibly nearer his goal when the last day of the holidays dawned.

  Determined to win his five dollars, William sent Abby a dozen roses early in the day, took her out to an expensive dinner at Joseph’s that evening and finally succeeded in coaxing her back into his front room.

  “How did you get hold of a bottle of whiskey?” asked Abby. “It’s Prohibition.”

  “Oh, it’s not so hard,” William boasted.

  The truth was that he had hidden a bottle of Henry Osborne’s bourbon in his bedroom soon after he had left and was now glad he had not poured it down the drain as had been his original intention.

  William poured drinks that made him gasp and brought tears to Abby’s eyes.

  He sat down beside her and put his arm confidently around her shoulder. She settled into it.

  “Abby, I think you’re terribly pretty,” he murmured in a preliminary way at her auburn curls.

  She gazed at him earnestly, her brown eyes wide. “Oh, William,” she breathed. “And I think you’re just wonderful.”

  Her doll-like face was irresistible. She allowed herself to be kissed. Thus emboldened, William slipped a tentative hand from her wrist onto her breast and left it there like a traffic cop halting an advancing stream of automobiles. She became pinkly indignant and pushed his arm down to allow the traffic to move on.

  “William, you mustn’t do that.”

  “Why not?” said William, struggling vainly to retain his grasp of her.

  “Because you can’t tell where it might end.”

  “I’ve got a fair idea.”

  Before he could renew his advances, Abby pushed him away and rose hastily, smoothing her dress.

  “I think I ought to be getting home now, William.”

  “But you’ve only just arrived.”

  “Mother will want to know what I’ve been doing.”

  “You’ll be able to tell her—nothing.”

  “And I think it’s best it stays that way,” she added.

  “But I’m going back tomorrow.” He avoided saying “to school.”

  “Well, you can write to me, William.”

  Unlike Valentino, William knew when he was beaten. He rose, straightened his tie, took Abby by the hand and drove her home.

  The following day, back at school, Matthew Lester accepted the proffered five-dollar bill with eyebrows raised in mock astonishment.

  “Just say one word, Matthew, and I’ll chase you right around St. Paul’s with a baseball bat.”

  “I can’t think of any words that would truly express my deep feeling of sympathy.”

  “Matthew, right around St. Paul’s.”

  William began to be aware of his housemaster’s wife during his last semester at St. Paul’s. She was a good-looking woman, a little slack around the stomach and hips perhaps, but she carried her splendid bosom well and the luxuriant dark hair piled on top of her head was no more streaked with gray than was becoming. One Saturday when William had sprained his wrist on the hockey field, Mrs. Raglan bandaged it for him in a cool compress, standing a little closer than was necessary, allowing William’s arm to brush against her breast. He enjoyed the sensation. Then on another occasion when he had a fever and was confined to the infirmary for a few days, she brought him all his meals herself and sat on his bed, her body touching his legs through the thin covering while he ate. He enjoyed that too.

  She was rumored to be Grumpy Raglan’s second wife. No one in the house could imagine how Grumpy had managed to secure even one spouse. Mrs. Raglan occasionally indicated by the subtlest of sighs and silences that she shared something of their incredulity at her fate.

  As part of his duties as house captain William was required to report to Grumpy Raglan every night at ten-thirty when he had completed the lights-out round and was about to go to bed himself. One Monday evening when he knocked on Grumpy’s door as usual, he was surprised to hear Mrs. Raglan’s voice bidding hi