QB VII (24 page)

No answer.

“Come now. We’re not going to let this stand in the way of our friendship, are we?”

4

F
OR SEVERAL WEEKS THERE
had been a cooling in the relationship between Shawcross and his daughter Pam and her husband, Geoffery Dodd. It was obvious they thought he was spending too much time on the Kelno affair, Shawcross felt it would be a good idea to have them down to the beach house at Ramsgate in Kent for the weekend and mend things up.

The autumn list of new books was very thin and there wasn’t much in prospect for the spring. During these lean periods in the past Shawcross had the uncanny knack of coming up with a dark horse and would make the best seller list. But these days every moment went into the volumes of correspondence, the translations, and the attempt to crack the doors at the Communist embassies. There would be no recurrence of the annual Shawcross miracle.

The whole Kelno affair had come at a poor time for Shawcross. He was getting along in years and wanted to spend more and more time at Ramsgate just editing and working with new writers.

Geoff and Pam were doing a good job and now with their son, Cecil, in the firm the family continuation looked secure.

Geoff and Shawcross walked beneath the chalk cliffs as they had done on many occasions for a decade, tossing about company business, paper orders, personnel, layouts, bindings, contracts, printing schedules, the Frankfurt Book Fair, the new list.

Shawcross poked his walking stick in the sand. “I’m still reeling from this shock from Archie.”

“Perhaps it’s an omen, David,” Geoff said.

David looked concerned. He had always taken Geoffery Dodd so much for granted and expected unqualified loyalty.

“Let’s have at it. What’s on your mind, Geoff?”

“We haven’t had a big winner since, well,
The Holocaust.
Abraham is a year away from starting a new novel, another year to write it and six months for us to get it ready. Usually when we’d get into a situation like this, you’d shake the tree and come up with something.”

Shawcross grumbled and flipped his cigar into the breakers. “I know what you’re going to say, merger. Well, who do we talk merger to? The sanitary napkin manufacturer, the soup company, or the oil tycoon who thinks his idiot son should be a publisher.”

“It would be a case of beefing up the present ten books to thirty books a year and giving us the reserve to bid on the Micheners and Irving Wallaces.”

“I’d always hoped we’d be able to keep things in the family, but I suppose it’s not very realistic, is it?”

“The point is,” Geoff said, “no one will talk merger or partnership so long as we have this lawsuit hanging over our heads.”

“I am not going to abandon Abraham so long as he remains in this case.”

Then I’ve got to tell you something, quite candidly. Lambert-Phillips has offered me a directorship.”

“Those cheeky bastards daring to raid me.”

“I had my hand in the courtship.”

“I ... I see.”

“It’s the position of managing editor, seat on the board, stock options. Almost a thousand more than I’m making. Quite frankly I was astonished.”

“You shouldn’t be. You’re a good man, Geoff. And what about Cecil?”

“He would want to come with me.”

David tried to conceal a convulsing sensation. All of a sudden a lovely little world he had built with dedication and integrity was splitting apart. “Pam, of course, goes along with all this?”

“Not exactly. She’s for us taking a partner and keeping on with Shawcross. But you’ve got to make up your mind about this business with Kelno. I’ve got to tell you why I talked this over with Lambert-Phillips. It’s not the money really. It’s because David Shawcross has a pair of shoes so large, no one can fill them properly. Sure, I’m a good managing editor but God almighty, David, you’ve run a one man show that neither Cecil nor I could cope with in today’s world.”

They reached the beach house.

“Thanks for the chat, Geoff. I’ll think about it.”

The ash on David’s cigar was four inches long. The galleys were balanced on his stomach, but he had stared aimlessly for an hour without reading them.

Lorraine sat on the edge of the bed and removed his cigar and fed him his pills.

“Pam told me today when you and Geoff took your stroll,” she said. “What do you think we ought to do, love?”

“Difficult to say. Well have to make a decision fairly soon. Abraham will be on his way to London next week.”

5

T
HE ROOM
A
BRAHAM
C
ADY
loved most in the world was David Shawcross’s library and its smell of the plush leather of the rich maroon and green and blue bindings of an incredible collection of first editions. Almost every important writer of the twentieth century was represented. Abe was most proud that
The Holocaust
was the most prominently displayed as the greatest single volume ever published by Shawcross. In a moment, Shawcross’s solicitor, Allen Lewin, arrived.

He was fine, as solicitors went, Abe thought, and completely loyal to Shawcross.

“Before we get into our business,” Lewin said, “I’d like to clear up one point. What are your recollections now of the offending paragraph. How did it get into your book?”

Abe smiled. “When I give a newspaper interview to a journalist he may end up writing three or four hundred words about me. There’s always a dozen errors. In a seven hundred page book of over four hundred thousand words, I made one. I’ll admit, it was a dilly. This same information had been published about Kelno before. He was on the list of wanted war criminals. After researching as I did and particularly reading the records of the war crimes trials of doctors I think anyone was willing to believe anything about any of them. What I read about Kelno, in sources that had been totally reliable till then, was completely in keeping with other facts of German atrocities. This doesn’t excuse me, of course.”

“Abraham is the most thorough and accurate writer in fiction today,” Shawcross said. “This mistake could have happened to anyone.”

“I wish it had happened to someone else,” Lewin said, “preferably from another house.” He unsnapped his briefcase and they ordered whisky all around.

“You and Mr. Shawcross have been in close communication so you know our independent findings pretty well coincide. As for the situation inside the house, Geoff and Cecil are planning to leave unless there is a merger or a partnership and this is impossible until the case is settled.”

“I didn’t realize that,” Abe said.

“We have to familiarize you with the fiscal situation of Shawcross limited so you’ll understand how we are coming to our decision.”

“Sorry to have to give you all this rubbish, Abe,” Shawcross said, “but matters are too grave.”

“Shoot.”

“The current and projected new lists and the cash flow will make money. Mr. Shawcross, as you may know, is not an extremely wealthy man. His credit has been good with the banks and printers because of a distinguished personal reputation. The actual assets of the company lie in his back list and three outstanding series. The greatest asset for a merger is Mr. Shawcross’s image.

“His personal fortune,” Lewin continued, “as I said is not enormous. All of this goes on the line in a major lawsuit of this nature.

“I’m a Jew, Mr. Cady. I approached this with all the moral overtones. We have spent months at it and now we have to take a cold-blooded look at the risk and our possibilities. We have a number of vague statements of people operated on in Jadwiga, but no one except Dr. Tesslar who claims to be an eyewitness. I’ve had three banisters go over Tesslar’s statement. They all feel he would he an extremely vulnerable witness, particularly in the hands of such an examiner as Sir Robert Highsmith. Then we got into questions of whether or not any others will actually come to London, and if they do their value is questionable. In a British courtroom we don’t have much of a chance ... if any.

“And there are other factors,” Lewin said. “Kelno has a large reputation. The cost factors in fighting such a case are staggering. Technically, Mr. Shawcross is held harmless of libel by your contract with him. However, if he remains as a codefendant and there is a judgment against you, Kelno will go after Shawcross first because his money is in England. Any sizable judgment could well force Mr. Shawcross into dire straits.

“At the present moment, Richard Smiddy is ready to adopt a reasonable attitude. Just getting Mr. Shawcross out of this with a damage settlement plus calling in thirty thousand copies of
The Holocaust
is going to take a heavy toll. But at least he’ll then be able to take in a partner. My own intuition tells me mat Kelno wants personal exoneration more than money and in the end will settle reasonably with you. If you are stubborn and lose in England he’ll go after some twenty foreign publishers to whom you have a great responsibility.”

“You’re suggesting settlement for me?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Abe said, “I’d like to hire you as my solicitor.”

Lewin smiled and nodded.

“Now that you’re my solicitor, you’re fired,” he said and left the library.

6

I WANT MY MOTORCYCLE. I WANT THE WIND TO TEAR THROUGH ME AT A HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR. I WANT MY KIDS. BEN IS NERVELESS, THAT’S WHAT MAKES HIM SUCH A GOOD FLYER. BEN KEEPS CALM AND VANESSA IS SOFT. EVEN THE ISRAELI ARMY DIDN’T HARDEN HER.

I LOVE LONDON. EVEN NOW I FEEL WARM HERE. I HAVE A MEMORY OF EVERY STREET IN THE MAYFAIR.

IN MY NEXT LIFE I’M GOING TO BE AN ENGLISHMAN. NO, A TOUGH POET PLAYWRIGHT FROM WALES. I’LL CLAW INTO LONDON, THEN INTO THE WEST END THEATERS. I’LL HAVE A MAD FLAT IN CHELSEA AND BE RENOWNED FOR CRAZY BRAWLING PARTIES IN WHICH I RECITE MY POETRY AND OUTDRINK ANY MAN IN THE ROOM.

WELL, THAT’S MY REINCARNATION ORDER, LORD. AS FOR THIS LIFE, I’M ABRAHAM CADY, WRITING JEW. LOOK AT ME CAREFULLY, GOD. I DRINK TOO MUCH. I COMMITTED ADULTERY TEN MILLION TIMES. I FORNICATE WITH OTHER MEN’S WIVES. NOW SERIOUSLY, GOD, DO I LOOK LIKE JESUS’S BROTHER TO YOU? SO WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO NAIL ME UP ON ONE OF YOUR GODDAM CROSSES?

WHY ME?

I’VE PLAYED BALL WITH MY PROFESSION. DID YOU SEE THE CONTRACT I GAVE UP TO WRITE THIS GODDAM BOOK? SO NOW THAT I HAVE A FEW DOLLARS IN THE BANK IS IT FAIR THAT I GET BUSTED?

GOD, I WISH THE KIDS WERE HERE. I WISH I WAS A WELSHMAN.

“All right,” Abe said, “I give up. Where am I?”

“In my flat,” a woman answered.

“Soho or Chelsea?”

“Neither. West one, Berkeley Square.”

“I’m impressed.”

Abe had worked his way upright and slipped on his eye patch, then got the good one into focus. The bedroom was a display of wealth and taste. The woman ... forty-five, handsome, pampered, preserved. Thick brown hair and large brown eyes.

“Anything go on between us? I mean, don’t take it personally, but I lose my memory when I get too drunk.”

“You didn’t do much of anything.”

“Where’d you find me?”

“The Bengal Club. Tucked away in a corner, stiff. It was the first time in my life I’ve seen a man sitting up straight and looking directly at me and completely unconscious. So I said to my companion, who is the funny man with the one red eye and my companion said, why it’s the famous writer, Abraham Cady, and well, one just doesn’t leave Abraham Cady sitting upright and unconscious with his one red eye shining like a stop light.”

“God, you’re amusing.

“As a matter of fact, some mutual friends told me to look after you.”

“What friends?” Abe asked suspiciously.

“Our friends at Two Palace Green.”

At the mention of the address of the embassy of Israel, Abe became serious. In his travels he always knew where to reach a “friend” and “friends” knew how to contact him. Often the meetings were indirect.

“Who are you?” Abe asked.

“Sarah Wydman.”

“Lady Sarah Wydman?”

“Yes.”

“Widow of Lord Wydman, London branch of Friends of the Hebrew University, Friends of Technical, Friends of the Weizmann Institute?”

She nodded.

“I’d like to meet you again, under happier circumstances.”

Her smile was lovely and warm. “What can your tummy hold?”

“Orange juice. Gallons of it.”

“You’ll find an assortment of things in the guest bathroom.”

“All prepared for me.”

“Never can tell when you’ll run into a distressed writer.”

Abe pulled himself together. The guest bathroom was extremely well equipped, especially for a lover. A guy wouldn’t have to pack a thing. Razor, after shave lotion, new toothbrush, Alka-Seltzer, talcum, terry cloth robe, slippers, and a deodorant. He showered his way back to life.

Lady Wydman set down the
Times
, letting her glasses fall to her bosom, where they were held by a thin gold chain, and poured the first of Abe’s orange juice.

“What’s up, Lady Sarah?”

“Sarah will do. There is a prevailing feeling among our friends that Kelno is guilty of some pretty nasty goings on at Jadwiga. They asked me if I would look into the matter. I’m quite active in the Jewish Community.”

“Well, Sarah, I’ve got a problem.”

“Yes, I know. Does the name Jacob Alexander mean anything to you?”

“Only that he’s a prominent Jewish solicitor here in London.”

“He’s quite involved with Jewish affairs. There’s a great deal of interest in keeping you in this case.”

“Why? The Jews are looking for a new martyr.”

“There seems to be some interesting new evidence.”

Lady Wydman’s Bentley passed along Lincoln’s Inn Fields, one of the largest squares in Europe. Near the center gazebo nurses from the Royal College of Surgeons played netball during the noon hour and doctors got in a quick set of doubles on the grass courts. At the wall at Searle Street there were posts marking the place where a turnstile once stood to keep the cattle from grazing on Holborn.