O+F Part 49

"How much did you bid?"

"You don't want to know."

"That much? Oh well, I suppose it's for a good cause."

"Right," Oliver said. "Emma." He scratched his head and drank more Chianti. "Money. What was that guy's name? The bank guy?"

"Tom. I'll call Mary tomorrow and check it out."

Oliver felt his insides contract. "Guess it can't hurt," he said. He folded the quilt.

"Da Da," Emma said.

"It's a quilt for you, Special One."

"Sweetums, next weekend . . ."

"Yes?"

"It's Daddy's birthday and Mother is having a major party, Sat.u.r.day night."

"That's nice," Oliver said dutifully. "Can't make it though."

"How come?"

"Sat.u.r.day is the 31st, month-end. It's the only time I can install those d.a.m.n operating system changes--after the monthly reports and backups and before any new transactions."

"Oh dear."

"It's my last responsibility, the last round-up."

"Well, Daddy will understand. I'll take Precious down Sat.u.r.day morning and come back Sunday afternoon. I hope the roads aren't bad."

"Don't go if they are."

"We'll see. Time for nighty-night, Precious. Da Da got you a lovely quilt."

22.

Oliver adjusted his tie. The blue blazer that Jennifer had bought fit well. "You look wonderful," she said, brushing non-existent dust from his shoulder, her face happy behind him in the mirror. The oxford-cloth shirt was soft and expansive. His gray wool slacks were tightly creased. His shoes gleamed. Her creation. "Now don't be late."

Oliver turned and saluted. "Aye, aye . . . Jennifer, I don't know about this."

"You'll like Tom. He's a dear."

"I'll probably stop in for a pint, after. I'll be back by seven."

"We'll eat late. You look just right."

Oliver drove into Portland and parked in the Temple Street garage. The downtown high-rise buildings were all banks now. The highest points in the city used to be church steeples, Oliver thought. Now, all you see up there are bank signs.

He entered the dark and ornate lobby of Pilgrim's Atlantic. Money was taken seriously here. He looked for the elevator. "Topside," Tom had said.

When the elevator doors opened at the top floor, Oliver was disoriented by the orange carpet, the color-coordinated flowery wallpaper, and the sunny windows. A well-built maternal receptionist smiled from behind an antique table. Where was he? He returned her smile. Two silver-haired executives approached and pa.s.sed each other in the center of the large room. They had magnificent chests and sun-bronzed features. They nodded antlers and continued on their separate paths to polished doors.

Oliver stared, entranced. A red-haired a.s.sistant wearing a tight skirt and a close-fitting white blouse came from behind a corner and followed one of the executives into his office. In front of her, she held a silver tray. There was a gla.s.s of milk on it and a small plate of cookies. Nursery school, he thought, and started to laugh. The power floor is a nursery school!

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes, ha. Yes. Tom Alden. Three o'clock."

"You must be Mr. Prescott."

"Oliver."

"Please make yourself comfortable. Mr. Alden will be with you in just a moment. May I get you a refreshment?"

"Ah, that's very nice of you. Let's see." Take your blouse off.

Laphroiag. A ticket to anywhere . . . "Coffee--cream, no sugar, if you would." The woman pressed a b.u.t.ton and spoke softly. Oliver sat on the edge of a love-seat and considered the reading matter on a coffee table: _Fortune, The Rolls Royce, _ and a copy of _The Economist._ The redhead appeared at his side, bending fetchingly as she set down a cup and saucer. "Thank you," Oliver said sincerely.

"Oliver? How good of you to come." Tom, a slimmer darker trophy elk, smiled winningly and shook hands. "How's that coffee? It's Pilgrim's blend; we have it roasted to our specs. Margaret, we'll be tied up for awhile. If Jack Dillon calls, tell him I'll get to him by four. Thanks.

Come on in, Oliver." He patted Oliver warmly on the shoulder. "How's Jennifer?"

"Fine. She sends her best, by the way."

"Good. Good." Tom opened one of the polished doors and ushered Oliver into his office. The harbor spread out before them. A ferry was halfway to Peaks Island.

"Nice view," Oliver said. "I love the look of those ferries."

"One of the better perks," Tom admitted. "The town is growing fast. I hope we aren't overstressing the harbor."

"Often a subject of discussion at our house," Oliver said.

"Jennifer does good work with The Wetlands Conservancy. We do what we can to help. Jacky Chapelle, one of ours, used to be on their board.

You know Jacky?"

Oliver felt his room to maneuver slipping away. "Yes," he said innocently.

"One of our best, Jacky. We took her on at a lower position and made quite a career for her. We take care of our own at Pilgrim." Tom swiveled around to face Oliver more directly. "Why do you want to come aboard, Oliver?"

"Pilgrim has an excellent reputation," Oliver said.

"We're the can-do bank," Tom said, smiling. "Didn't Mary tell me you guys have added to the crew?"

"Yes," Oliver said. "Emma. She just had her first birthday." He shook his head, letting Tom see that he appreciated the gravity and the wonder of it.