The Fountainhead Part 55

"I intended to say that to you-had you given me the chance you won't give me."

"That should make it more entertaining."

"You expected to be entertained?"

"I am."

"About the statue?" It was the only point of weakness he had discovered.

"No." Her voice was hard. "Not about the statue."

"Tell me, when was it made and for whom?"

"Is that another thing Mr. Toohey forgot?"

"Apparently."

"Do you remember a scandal about a building called the Stoddard Temple? Two years ago. You were away at the time."

"The Stoddard Temple.... How do you happen to know where I was two years ago? ... Wait, the Stoddard Temple. I remember: a sacrilegious church or some such object that gave the Bible brigade a howling spree."

"Yes."

"There was ..." He stopped. His voice sounded hard and reluctant-like hers. "There was the statue of a naked woman involved."

"Yes."

"I see."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, his voice harsh, as if he were holding back some anger whose object she could not guess: "I was somewhere around Bali at the time. I'm sorry all New York saw that statue before I did. But I don't read newspapers when I'm sailing. There's a standing order to fire any man who brings a Wynand paper aboard the yacht."

"Have you ever seen pictures of the Stoddard Temple?"

"No. Was the building worth the statue?"

"The statue was almost worthy of the building."

"It has been destroyed, hasn't it?"

"Yes. With the help of the Wynand papers."

He shrugged. "I remember Alvah Scarret had a good time with it. A big story. Sorry I missed it. But Alvah did very well. Incidentally, how did you know that I was away and why has the fact of my absence remained in your memory?"

"It was the story that cost me my job with you."

"Your job? With job? With me?" me?"

"Didn't you know my name was Dominique Francon?"

Under the trim jacket his shoulders made a sagging movement forward; it was surprise-and helplessness. He stared at her, quite simply. After a while, he said: "No."

She smiled indifferently. She said: "It appears that Toohey wanted to make it as difficult for both of us as he could."

"To h.e.l.l with Toohey. This has to be understood. It doesn't make sense. You're Dominique Francon?"

"I was."

"You worked here, in this building, for years?"

"For six years."

"Why haven't I met you before?"

"I'm sure you don't meet every one of your employees."

"I think you understand what I mean."

"Do you wish me to state it for you?"

"Yes."

"Why haven't I tried to meet you before?"

"Yes."

"I had no desire to."

"That, precisely, doesn't make sense."

"Shall I let this go by or understand it?"

"I'll spare you the choice. With the kind of beauty you possess and with knowledge of the kind of reputation I am said to possess-why didn't you attempt to make a real career for yourself on the Banner?" Banner?"

"I never wanted a real career on the Banner." Banner."

"Why?"

"Perhaps for the same reason that makes you forbid Wynand papers on your yacht."

"It's a good reason," he said quietly. Then he asked, his voice casual again: "Let's see, what was it you did to get fired? You went against our policy, I believe?"

"I tried to defend the Stoddard Temple."

"Didn't you know better than to attempt sincerity on the Banner?"

"I intended to say that to you-if you'd given me the chance."

"Are you being entertained?"

"I wasn't, then. I liked working here."

"You're the only one who's ever said that in this building."

"I must be one of two."

"Who's the other?"

"Yourself, Mr. Wynand."

"Don't be too sure of that." Lifting his head, he saw the hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in her eyes and asked: "You said it just to trap me into that kind of a statement?"

"Yes, I think so," she answered placidly.

"Dominique Francon ..." he repeated, not addressing her. "I used to like your stuff. I almost wish you were here to ask for your old job."

"I'm here to discuss Stoneridge."

"Ah, yes, of course." He settled back, to enjoy a long speech of persuasion. He thought it would be interesting to hear what arguments she'd choose and how she'd act in the role of pet.i.tioner. "Well, what do you wish to tell me about that?"

"I should like you to give that commission to my husband. I understand, of course, that there's no reason why you should do so-unless I agree to sleep with you in exchange. If you consider that a sufficient reason-I am willing to do it."

He looked at her silently, allowing no hint of personal reaction in his face. She sat looking up at him, faintly astonished by his scrutiny, as if her words had deserved no special attention. He could not force on himself, though he was seeking it fiercely, any other impression of her face than the incongruous one of undisturbed purity.

He said: "That is what I was to suggest. But not so crudely and not on our first meeting."

"I have saved you time and lies."

"You love your husband very much?"

"I despise him."

"You have a great faith in his artistic genius?"

"I think he's a third-rate architect."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"It amuses me."

"I thought I was the only one who acted on such motives."

"You shouldn't mind. I don't believe you've ever found originality a desirable virtue, Mr. Wynand."

"Actually, you don't care whether your husband gets Stoneridge or not?"

"No."

"And you have no desire to sleep with me?"

"None at all."

"I could admire a woman who'd put on an act like that. Only it's not an act."

"It's not. Please don't begin admiring me. I have tried to avoid it."

Whenever he smiled no obvious movement was required of his facial muscles; the hint of mockery was always there and it merely came into sharper focus for a moment, to recede imperceptibly again. The focus was sharper now.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "your chief motive is I, after all. The desire to give yourself to me." He saw the glance she could not control and added: "No, don't enjoy the thought that I have fallen into so gross an error. I didn't mean it in the usual sense. But in its exact opposite. Didn't you say you considered me the person before last in the world? You don't want Stoneridge. You want to sell yourself for the lowest motive to the lowest person you can find."

"I didn't expect you to understand that," she said simply.

"You want-men do that sometimes, not women-to express through the s.e.xual act your utter contempt for me."

"No, Mr. Wynand. For myself."

The thin line of his mouth moved faintly, as if his lips had caught the first hint of a personal revelation-an involuntary one and, therefore, a weakness-and were holding it tight while he spoke: "Most people go to very great length in order to convince themselves of their self-respect."

"Yes."

"And, of course, a quest for self-respect is proof of its lack."

"Yes."

"Do you see the meaning of a quest for self-contempt?"

"That I lack it?"

"And that you'll never achieve it."

"I didn't expect you to understand that either."

"I won't say anything else-or I'll stop being the person before last in the world and I'll become unsuitable to your purpose." He rose. "Shall I tell you formally that I accept your offer?"

She inclined her head in agreement.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I don't care whom I choose to build Stoneridge. I've never hired a good architect for any of the things I've built. I give the public what it wants. I was stuck for a choice this time, because I'm tired of the bunglers who've worked for me, and it's hard to decide without standards or reason. I'm sure you don't mind my saying this. I'm really grateful to you for giving me a much better motive than any I could hope to find."

"I'm glad you didn't say that you've always admired the work of Peter Keating."

"You didn't tell me how glad you were to join the distinguished list of Gail Wynand's mistresses."

"You may enjoy my admitting it, if you wish, but I think we'll get along very well together."

"Quite likely. At least, you've given me a new experience: to do what I've always done-but honestly. Shall I now begin to give you my orders? I won't pretend they're anything else."

"If you wish."

"You'll go with me for a two months' cruise on my yacht. We'll sail in ten days. When we come back, you'll be free to return to your husband -with the contract for Stoneridge."