Sons of Fortune Read online

  “Isn’t there anyone from Connecticut worthy of the shortlist?” asked Tom. “It would send out a far better message to the jury.”

  “I agree,” said Jimmy, “but the only man who is of the same caliber as those four simply isn’t available.”

  “And who’s that?” asked Nat.

  “The Democratic candidate for governor.”

  Nat smiled for the first time. “Then he’s my first choice.”

  “But he’s in the middle of an election campaign.”

  “Just in case you haven’t noticed, so is the accused,” said Nat, “and let’s face it, the election isn’t for another nine months. If I turn out to be his opponent, at least he’ll know where I am the whole time.”

  “But…” repeated Jimmy.

  “You tell Mr. Fletcher Davenport that if I become the Republican candidate, he’s my first choice, and don’t approach anyone else until he’s turned me down, because if everything I’ve heard about that man is true, I feel confident he’ll want to represent me.”

  “If those are your instructions, Mr. Cartwright.”

  “Those are my instructions, counselor.”

  By the time the polls had closed at eight P.M. Nat had fallen asleep in the car as Tom drove him home. His chief of staff made no attempt to disturb him. The next thing Nat remembered was waking to find Su Ling lying on the bed beside him, and his first thoughts were of Luke. Su Ling stared at him and gripped his hand. “No,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean, no?” asked Nat.

  “I can see it in your eyes, my darling, you wonder if I would prefer you to withdraw, so that we can mourn Luke properly, and the answer is no.”

  “But we’ll have the funeral, and then the preparations for the trial, not to mention the trial itself.”

  “Not to mention the endless hours in between, when you’ll be brooding and unbearable to live with, so the answer is still no.”

  “But it’s going to be almost impossible to expect a jury not to accept the word of a grieving widow who also claims to have been an eyewitness to her husband’s murder.”

  “Of course she was an eyewitness,” said Su Ling. “She did it.”

  The phone on Su Ling’s bedside table began to ring. She picked it up and listened attentively before writing two figures down on the pad by the phone. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll let him know.”

  “Let him know what?” inquired Nat.

  Su Ling tore the piece of paper off the pad and passed it across to her husband. “It was Tom. He wanted you to know the election result.” Su Ling handed over the piece of paper. All she had written on it were the figures “69/31.”

  “Yes, but who got sixty-nine percent?” asked Nat.

  “The next governor of Connecticut,” she replied.

  Luke’s funeral was, at the principal’s request, held in Taft School’s chapel. He explained that so many pupils had wanted to be present. It was only after his death that Nat and Su Ling became aware just how popular their son had been. The service was simple, and the choir of which he was so proud to be a member sang William Blake’s “Jerusalem” and Cole Porter’s “Ain’t Misbehavin’.” Kathy read one of the lessons, and dear old Thomo another, while the principal delivered the address.

  Mr. Henderson spoke of a shy, unassuming youth, liked and admired by all. He reminded those present of Luke’s remarkable performance as Romeo, and how he had learned only that morning that Luke had been offered a place at Princeton.

  The coffin was borne out of the chapel by boys and girls from the ninth grade who had performed with him in the school play. Nat learned so much about Luke that day that he felt guilty he hadn’t known what an impact his son had made on his contemporaries.

  At the end of the service, Nat and Su Ling attended the tea party given in the principal’s house for Luke’s closest friends. It was packed to overflowing, but then as Mr. Henderson explained to Su Ling, everyone thought they were a close friend of Luke’s. “What a gift,” he remarked simply.

  The headboy presented Su Ling with a book of photographs and short essays composed by his fellow pupils. Later, whenever Nat felt low, he would turn a page, read an entry and glance at a photograph, but there was one he kept returning to again and again: Luke was the only boy ever to speak to me who never once mentioned my turban or my color. He simply didn’t see them. I had looked forward to him being a friend for the rest of my life. Malik Singh (16).

  As they left the principal’s house, Nat spotted Kathy sitting alone in the garden, her head bowed. Su Ling walked across and sat down beside her. She put an arm around Kathy and tried to comfort her. “He loved you very much,” Su Ling said.

  Kathy raised her head, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I never told him I loved him.”

  45

  “I can’t do it,” said Fletcher.

  “Why not?” asked Annie.

  “I can think of a hundred reasons.”

  “Or are they a hundred excuses?”

  “Defend the man I’m trying to defeat,” said Fletcher, ignoring her comment.

  “Without fear or favor,” quoted Annie.

  “Then how would you expect me to conduct the election?”

  “That will be the easy part.” She paused. “Either way.”

  “Either way?” repeated Fletcher.

  “Yes. Because if he’s guilty, he won’t even be the Republican candidate.”

  “And if he’s innocent?”

  “Then you’ll rightly be praised for setting him free.”

  “That’s neither practical nor sensible.”

  “Two more excuses.”

  “Why are you on his side?” asked Fletcher.

  “I’m not,” insisted Annie. “I am, to quote Professor Abrahams, on the side of justice.”

  Fletcher was silent for some time. “I wonder what he would have done faced with the same dilemma?”

  “You know very well what he would have done…but some people will forget those standards within moments of leaving this university…”

  “…I can only hope that at least one person in every generation,” said Fletcher, completing the professor’s oft-repeated dictum.

  “Why don’t you meet him,” said Annie, “and then perhaps that will persuade you…”

  Despite abundant caution from Jimmy and vociferous protests from the local Democrats—in fact from everyone except Annie—it was agreed that the two men should meet the following Sunday.

  The chosen venue was Fairchild and Russell, as it was felt few citizens would be strolling down Main Street early on a Sunday morning.

  Nat and Tom arrived just before ten, and it was the chairman of the bank who unlocked the front door and turned off the alarm for the first time in years. They only had to wait a few minutes before Fletcher and Jimmy appeared on the top step. Tom ushered them quickly through to the boardroom.

  When Jimmy introduced his closest friend to his most important client, both men stared at each other, not sure which one of them should make the first move.

  “It’s good of you…”

  “I hadn’t expected…”

  Both men laughed and then shook each other warmly by the hand.

  Tom suggested that Fletcher and Jimmy sit on one side of the conference table, while he and Nat sat opposite them. Fletcher nodded his agreement, and once seated, he opened his briefcase and removed a yellow notepad, placing it on the table in front of him, along with a fountain pen taken from an inside pocket.

  “May I begin by saying how much I appreciate you agreeing to see me,” said Nat. “I can only imagine the opposition you must have faced from every quarter and am well aware that you did not settle for the easy option.” Jimmy lowered his head.

  Fletcher raised a hand. “It’s my wife you have to thank.” He paused. “Not me. But it’s me that you have to convince.”

  “Then please pass on my grateful thanks to Mrs. Davenport, and let me assure you that I will answer any questions you put to me.”