Being There (8 page)

“I like the President,” said Chance.

“I hear you looked absolutely smashing on TV! All my friends want to meet you. Chauncey, you are still going to the U.N. reception with me this afternoon?”

“Yes, I'd be happy to go.”

“You are a dear. I hope you won't find all the fuss too boring. We don't have to stay late. After the reception we can go and see some friends of mine if you like; they're giving a large dinner party.”

“I'll be glad to go with you.”

“Oh, I'm so happy,” EE exclaimed. Her voice dropped: “Can I see you? I've missed you so very much….”

“Yes, of course.”

She entered the room, her face flushed. “I have to tell you something that's very important to me, and I must say it as I look at you,” she said, catching her breath and stopping to grope for words. “I wonder if you would consider remaining here with us, Chauncey, at least for a while. This invitation is Ben's as well as
mine.” She did not wait for an answer. “Think of it! You can live here in this house with us! Chauncey, please, don't say no! Benjamin is so ill; he said he feels so much more secure with you under the same roof.” She threw her arms around him and pressed her body hard against his. “Chauncey, my dearest, you must, you must,” she whispered. There was an unguarded quaver in her voice.

Chance agreed.

EE hugged him and kissed his cheek; then she broke away from him and began circling the room. “I know! We must get you a secretary. Now that you are in the public eye, you'll want someone experienced to help you with your affairs and screen your callers, to protect you from the people you don't want to talk to or meet. But perhaps there's someone you already have in mind? Someone who's worked for you in the past?”

“No,” Chance answered. “There's no one.”

“Then I'll start looking for someone right away,” she said huskily.

Before lunch, while Chance was watching TV, EE rang his room. “Chauncey, I hope I'm not disturbing you,” she said in a measured voice. “But I would like you to meet Mrs. Aubrey, who is here in the library with me. She would like to be considered for the post of temporary secretary until we can find a permanent one. Can you see her now?”

“Yes, I can,” said Chance.

When Chance entered the library, he saw a grayhaired woman sitting beside EE on the sofa.

EE introduced them.

Chance shook hands and sat down. Under the inquisitive stare of Mrs. Aubrey, he drummed his fingers on the desk top. “Mrs. Aubrey has been Mr. Rand's trusted secretary at the First American Financial Corporation for years,” EE exclaimed.

“I see,” Chance said.

“Mrs. Aubrey does not want to retire—she's certainly not the type for that.” Chance had nothing to say. He rubbed his thumb over his cheek. EE pulled up her wristwatch, which had slipped down on her hand.

“If you'd like, Chauncey,” EE continued, “Mrs. Aubrey can make herself available immediately….”

“Good,” he said, finally. “I hope Mrs. Aubrey will enjoy working here. This is a fine household.”

EE sought his glance across the desk. “In that case,” she said, “it's settled. I've got to run now. I have to get dressed for the reception. I'll speak to you later, Chauncey.”

Chance watched Mrs. Aubrey. She had turned her head to one side and seemed almost wistful. She resembled a solitary dandelion.

He liked her. He did not know what to say. He waited for Mrs. Aubrey to speak. At length, she caught
his stare and said softly: “Perhaps we can start. If you would care to give me an outline of the general nature of your business and social activities …”

“Please speak to Mrs. Rand about it,” said Chance, rising.

Mrs. Aubrey hastily got to her feet. “I quite understand,” she said. “In any case, sir, I am at your disposal. My office is just next to that of Mr. Rand's private secretary.”

Chance said, “Thank you again,” and walked out of the room.

At the United Nations fete, Chance and EE were greeted by members of the U.N. Hospitality Committee and escorted to one of the most prominent tables. The Secretary-General approached; he greeted EE by kissing her hand and asking about Rand's health. Chance could not recall ever having seen the man on TV.

“This,” said EE to the Secretary-General, “is Mr. Chauncey Gardiner, a very dear friend of Benjamin's.”

The men shook hands. “I know this gentleman,” the Secretary said, still smiling. “I admired Mr. Gardiner so much on television last night. I am honored by your presence here, sir.”

They all sat down; waiters arrived with canapes of caviar, salmon, and egg, and trays crowded with glasses of champagne; photographers hovered about and snapped pictures. A tall florid man approached the table, and the Secretary-General rose like a shot. “Mr. Ambassador,” he said, “how good of you to come over.” He turned to EE. “May I have the honor of introducing His Excellency Vladimir Skrapinov, Ambassador of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?”

“Mr. Ambassador and I have already had the pleasure of meeting, haven't we?” EE smiled. “I recall a warm exchange between Mr. Rand and Ambassador Skrapinov two years ago in Washington.” She paused. “Unfortunately, Mr. Rand is ill and must forgo the pleasure of your company here today.” The Ambassador bowed cordially, seated himself, and talked loudly with EE and the Secretary-General. Chance fell silent and looked over the crowd. After a time the Secretary-General rose, reaffirmed his pleasure at meeting Chance, said good-bye, and departed. EE caught sight of her old friend, the Ambassador of Venezuela, who was just passing by, excused herself and went over to him.

The Soviet Ambassador moved his chair closer to Chance's. The flashbulbs of the photographers flashed away. “I'm sorry we didn't meet sooner,” he said. “I
saw you on
THIS EVENING
and must say that I listened with great interest to your down-to-earth philosophy. I'm not surprised that it was so quickly endorsed by your President.” He drew his chair still closer. “Tell me, Mr. Gardiner, how is our mutual friend, Benjamin Rand? I hear that his illness is actually very serious. I did not want to upset Mrs. Rand by discussing it in detail.”

“He's ill,” Chance said. “He's not well at all.”

“So I understand, so I've heard.” The Ambassador nodded, looking intently at Chance. “Mr. Gardiner,” he said, “I want to be candid. Considering the gravity of your country's economic situation, it is clear that you will be called upon to play an important role in the administration. I have detected in you a certain … reticence regarding political issues. But, Mr. Gardiner, after all … shouldn't we, the diplomats, and you, the businessmen, get together more often? We are not so far from each other, not so far!”

Chance touched his forehead with his hand. “We are not,” he said. “Our chairs are almost touching.”

The Ambassador laughed aloud. The photographers clicked. “Bravo, very good!” the Ambassador exclaimed. “Our chairs are indeed almost touching! And—how shall I put it—we both want to remain seated on them, don't we? Neither of us wants his chair snatched from under him, am I right? Am I correct?
Good! Excellent! Because if one goes, the other goes and then—boom!—we are both down, and no one wants to be down before his time, eh?” Chance smiled, and the Ambassador laughed loudly once again.

Skrapinov suddenly bent toward him. “Tell me, Mr. Gardiner, do you by any chance like Krylov's fables? I ask this because you have that certain Krylovian touch.”

Chance looked around and saw that he and Skrapinov were being filmed by cameramen. “Krylovian touch? Do I really?” he asked and smiled.

“I knew it, I knew it!” Skrapinov almost shouted. “So you know Krylov!” The Ambassador paused and then spoke rapidly in another language. The words sounded soft, and the Ambassador's features took on the look of an animal. Chance, who had never been addressed in a foreign language, raised his eyebrows and then laughed. The Ambassador looked astonished. “So … so! I was correct, wasn't I? You do know your Krylov in Russian, don't you? Mr. Gardiner, I must confess that I suspected as much all along. I know an educated man when I meet one.” Chance was about to deny it when the Ambassador winked. “I appreciate your discretion, my friend.” Again he spoke to Chance in a foreign tongue; this time Chance did not react.

Just then, EE returned to the table, accompanied by two diplomats, whom she introduced as Gaufridi, a
depute
from Paris, and His Excellency Count von Brockburg-Schulendorff, of West Germany. “Benjamin and I,” she reminisced, “had the pleasure of visiting the Count's ancient castle near Munich….”

The men were seated, and the photographers kept shooting. Von Brockburg-Schulendorff smiled, waiting for the Russian to speak. Skrapinov responded by smiling. Gaufridi looked from EE to Chance.

“Mr. Gardiner and I,” began Skrapinov, “have just been sharing our enthusiasm for Russian fables. It appears that Mr. Gardiner is an avid reader and admirer of our poetry, which, incidentally, he reads in the original.”

The German pulled his chair closer to Chance's. “Allow me to say, Mr. Gardiner, how much I admired your naturalistic approach to politics and economics on television. Of course, now that I know you have a literary background, I feel that I can understand your remarks much better.” He looked at the Ambassador, then lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Russian literature,” he announced, “has inspired some of the greatest minds of our age.”

“—Not to speak of German literature!” Skrapinov exclaimed. “My dear Count, may I remind you of Pushkin's lifelong admiration for the literature of
your country. Why, after Pushkin translated
Faust
into Russian, Goethe sent him his own pen! Not to mention Turgenev, who settled in Germany, and the love of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky for Schiller.”

Von Brockburg-Schulendorff nodded. “Yes, but can you calculate the effect of reading the Russian masters on Hauptmann, Nietzsche, and Thomas Mann? And how about Rilke: how often did Rilke declare that whatever was English was foreign to him, while whatever was Russian was his ancestral homeland … ?”

Gaufridi abruptly finished a glass of champagne. His face was flushed. He leaned across the table toward Skrapinov. “When we first met during World War II,” he said, “you and I were dressed in soldiers' uniforms, fighting the common enemy, the cruelest enemy in the annals of our nations' histories. Sharing literary influences is one thing, sharing blood another.”

Skrapinov attempted a smile. “But, Mr. Gaufridi,” he said, “you speak of the time of war, many years ago—another era altogether. Today, our uniforms and decorations are on display in museums. Today, we … we are soldiers of peace.” He had scarcely finished when Von Brockburg-Schulendorff excused himself; he rose abruptly, shoved his chair aside, kissed EE's hand, shook hands with Skrapinov and Chance,
and, bowing in the direction of the Frenchman, strode off. The photographers popped away.

EE exchanged seats with the Frenchman so that he and Chance could sit next to each other. “Mr. Gardiner,” the
député
began mildly, as if nothing had occurred, “I heard the President's speech, in which he referred to his consultations with you. I have read a lot about you, and I've also had the pleasure of watching you on television.” He lit a long cigarette which he had carefully inserted into a holder. “I understand from the remarks of Ambassador Skrapinov that, among your many other accomplishments, you are also a man of letters.” He looked sharply at Chance. “My dear Mr. Gardiner, it is only by … accepting fables as reality sometimes that we can advance a little way along the path of power and peace….” Chance lifted his glass. “It will come as no surprise to you,” he went on, “that many of our own industrialists, financiers, and members of government have the keenest interest in developments of the First American Financial Corporation. Ever since the illness of our mutual friend, Benjamin, their view of the course which the Corporation will pursue has been somewhat … shall we say, obstructed.” He halted, but Chance said nothing. “We are pleased to hear that you may fill Rand's place, should Benjamin fail to get well….”

“Benjamin will get well,” said Chance. “The President said so.”

“Let us hope so,” declared the Frenchman. “Let us hope. And yet none of us, not even the President, can be sure. Death hovers nearby, always ready to swoop down….”

Gaufridi was interrupted by the departure of the Soviet Ambassador. Everyone stood up. Skrapinov edged toward Chance. “A most interesting meeting, Mr. Gardiner,” he said quietly. “Most instructive. If you should ever visit our country, my government would be most honored to offer you its hospitality.” He pressed Chance's hand while film cameras rolled and photographers took photographs.

Gaufridi sat with Chance and EE at the table.