The Tea Rose Part 34

"Yes, Henry. Have Mr. Carnegie and Mr. Frick arrived yet?" "I haven't seen them, sir. Here you are."

"Thank you, Henry."

"My pleasure, sir."

Will took a healthy swallow of his Scotch, then scanned the Union Club bar for signs of his guests. Andrew Carnegie and Henry Frick, partners in the largest steel concern in the country, were dining with him tonight to discover his plans for the subterranean railway. They were interested in supplying him with steel and he was interested in wooing them as investors. Their support, and the support of other leading industrialists, was more crucial than ever now, for there was a new obstacle to his goal to build the city's first subway, one that threatened to derail all his careful planning and politicking.

The door to the bar room opened. Will turned, hoping to see at least one of his guests, but instead saw a pet.i.te brunette in a blue plaid jacket and skirt. She clutched a pad and pencil in one hand, her purse in the other .. Her sharp, quick eyes fastened on his; she made a beeline for him.

"h.e.l.lo, Will," she said.

He smiled at her. "Always a pleasure, Nellie. What are you drinking?" "Scotch. Rocks. Make it quick, will you?" she said, glancing at the bartender. "I figure I've got five, maybe ten minutes before the gargoyle catches me."

The bartender hesitated. "Mr. McClane ... I can't, sir. The rules say-"

"I know what the rules say. I say give Miss Bly a gla.s.s of Scotch with ice. Now." Will didn't raise his voice, he didn't have to.

"Right away, sir."

Will handed Nellie her drink. She knocked back half of it in one gulp, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and went for the jugular. "I hear August Belmont's thrown his hat in the ring. My source at City Hall says he submitted his own plan for the subterranean railway."

"Why don't you ask him yourself? He's sitting in the corner with John Rockefeller.

Disparaging my plan, I'm sure."

"Because he's a stiff and he never tells me anything. Come on, Will. I've got a nine-o'clock deadline."

Will drained his gla.s.s and motioned for another. "It's true," he said. "He's had his own team of engineers. They mapped out a completely different route from mine and gave the plans to the mayor two days ago. They're telling him their plan is more economical."

Nellie put her gla.s.s down and started writing. "Is it?"

"On paper. In reality, their plan would cost the city more. A lot more." "Why?"

"Belmont's route runs through ground that's swampy in some places, pure shale in others. In some locations, he's put down lines that go right through underground streams. His routes are more direct than mine -that's what he's selling the mayor on his economics-but because of the natural obstacles, the whole operation will cost more - in time, man-hours, and material."

"What are you going to do?"

"Tell the mayor to get his head out of his a.s.s and go with my plan."

"You know I can't use that. Much as I'd like to. Give me a real quote." Will pondered, then said, "I have every confidence that our esteemed mayor and his learned councilors will consider Manhattan's topography, geography, and transportation requirements when weighing the merits of each plan. And I am equally confident that when they do, they will not fail to see the egregious flaws, errors, miscalculations, and outright misrepresentions of the Belmont plan. Not only would such a scheme bankrupt the city, but the faulty engineering principles used to implement it would jeopardize the very integrity of Manhattan's streets and structures - not to mention the safety of its citizens ... how's that?"

"Perfect," she said, scribbling furiously. "Thanks, Will, you're a peach." She finished writing, closed her notebook, and took another swallow of whiskey, emptying her gla.s.s. Will got her another.

She looked at him closely as he handed it to her.

"You all right? You look a little peaky."

"Me? I'm fine."

He nodded, shrinking a bit under her gaze. He liked Nellie-very much, in fact-but he was always mindful of her profession. Giving a reporter business information was a good thing if you played it right, giving her personal information could be downright dangerous. He saw she was still looking at him, expecting an answer. He decided to admit to fatigue in hopes it would throw her off.

"Maybe it's the work," he said. "I have been a bit tired these last few days."

"I'm not buying that. You thrive on compet.i.tion. Something's wrong. Are you ill?"

Will sighed irritably. "Nothing's wrong! I'm fine, I just ... "

She raised her gla.s.s to her lips, then stopped midway. "It's a woman, isn't it?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're too d.a.m.n nosy, Nellie?"

"Everyone. Who is she?"

"n.o.body! There is no woman! It's the subway. All right?"

Nellie raised an eyebrow, but she let the topic drop. Will was relieved, though he was angry with himself for allowing his emotions to show so blatantly. Fiona was on his mind constantly now, and try as he might, he couldn't make sense of his feelings for her. He'd tried to tell William Whitney, one of his oldest friends, about her, but Whitney only asked him why he was making such a fuss. "Just buy the girl a bauble and take her to bed," he'd advised.

He thought about telling his sister Lydia, but didn't think she' d react well; she was forever trying to interest him in a friend of hers, a widow from Saratoga. He'd finally decided on his younger brother Robert. They'd had drinks here a week ago, on the eve of yet another one of Robert's jaunts to Alaska, where he was prospecting for gold. Robert was thirty-six and had never married. He'd lost his fiancee, Elizabeth, to tuberculosis when they were both twenty-four. They had been deeply in love. Her death had broken his heart and he'd never gotten over it.

"Why all the agony, Will?" Robert had asked. "Bed her and be done with it."

"You sound just like Whitney. It's not like that," Will had said.

"We're speaking of a potential wife? Forgive me. I thought you meant a mistress."

"We're speaking of a woman. The most beautiful, smartest, funniest woman I've ever met," Will said.

"Does she know your feelings?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I haven't told her."

"Why not? It's been what ... two years since Anna pa.s.sed? Your mourning's over. You're free to marry again if you like. What's stopping you?"

"Complications, Robert. She's not ... we don't share the same background."

"Ah," Robert said, taking a long swallow of his drink.

"She's a shopkeeper. I don't think my sons would accept her. Liddy, either. I don't know how her family would feel about me. And, of course, I'm a good deal older than she is."

"That is a difficult situation, my boy," Robert said. He paused for a moment, then said, "Do you love her?"

"I can't stop thinking about her. I've never met anyone I could talk to so easily ... "

"Will ... do you love her?"

He blinked, confused. "I don't know."

"You don't know? Will, you've been in love before, haven't you? I mean, with Anna, of course ... and your various ... well, you hare, haven't you?"

Will looked into his gla.s.s. "No. No, I haven't." He swallowed self consciously. "Is this what it's like? This feeling ... this sense of longing? It's horrible!"

Robert had laughed, amazed. "Yes, that's what it's like," he said, signaling to the waiter. ''I'm going to get you another drink. Maybe the whole d.a.m.n bottle. You look like you need it." He shook his head. "Didn't you ever wonder what you were missing?"

"No. I didn't believe in it. I thought it was something lady novelists invented." He shrugged helplessly. "Don't misunderstand me, Robert, I did feel something for Anna. She was a wonderful mother, a helpmate, a gracious person. But it was nothing like this."

"Christ, Will, that really does take the cake. In love for the first time." He laughed. "I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks."

He grimaced. "Did you have to say old dog?"

Robert flapped a hand at him. "Why don't you let her decide if she'd like to see you? If you're worth it, she'll put up with the hardships."

" If I'm worth it?"

"Yes. If. And if she's half the woman you say she is, she's more than up to the task. Her family will come around. Yours, too."He smiled. "I already have. Liddy will. And you can disinherit your children if they refuse to."

A hand suddenly waved in front of his face. "Will? Will, are you listening to me?

"Sorry, Nellie."

"Gee whiz, you've got it bad," she said. "You can say, or not say, whatever you like, but someone's stolen your heart." She leaned in closely. "You do have one, don't you?"

As Will was laughing, Cameron Eames, a young city judge and a friend of Will's eldest son, Will Junior, breezed through the door. "Evening, Mr. McClane," he said.

"h.e.l.lo, Cameron," Will said.

"You have a guest, I see. I wasn't aware the club admitted ladies. Oh, it's you, Nellie."

"Gee, that's a fresh one, Eames. Hey, you lock up any kids lately? I saw some boys playing stickball a few streets over. You know what they say stickball leads to stickups. You can't be too careful. Better call out the paddy wagons. Maybe the army while you're at it."

There were chuckles from two gentlemen standing nearby. Will heard them, so did Cameron.

His face darkened. "That was a hysterical piece of reporting. From a hysterical lady reporter led more by her heart than her wits," he said.

"The kid was ten years old, Eames."

"He was a criminal."

"He was hungry."

Eames, fuming, turned to Will and said, "If Will Junior arrives, would you let him know I'm in the dining room, Mr. McClane?"

"Of course, Cameron."

"Enjoy your meal, sir." He stalked off.

"That wasn't smart, Nell. Now he's going to tell the maitre d' and get you thrown out."

''I'm sure he will. Why should his club be any different from his courtroom? He throws me out of that all the time, the smug little s.h.i.t," she said. "Sorry, I know he's Will Junior's friend."

Will shrugged. "He's still a smug little s.h.i.t." He felt a hand on his shoulder."h.e.l.lo, Dad.

Nellie," a voice said. Will turned and smiled at the solidly built wheat-blond man of twenty-five standing at his side. It was his eldest son. Will greeted him, always happy to see him, to see any of his children, he was struck by how much he favored his late mother. The older he got, the more he reminded him of Anna and her Dutch ancestors, with their fair colouring, their grounded, no-nonsense ways.

"I'm meeting Cameron. Any sign of him?" Will Junior asked. Cameron and Will Junior had grown up together in Hyde Park on the Hudson and attended Princeton together, joining all the same clubs and the same fraternity. Married now, they both kept homes in the Hudson Valley where their young families were ensconced, and apartments in the city where they stayed during the work week.

"He's in the dining room," Will replied.

"Good," Will Junior said. He turned to Nellie. "Scorcher of an article."

''I'll take that as a compliment."

"You could ruin a man's career with stories like that."

"Cameron can do that by himself. He doesn't need my help."

Since last January, when he'd been appointed a justice of the city's criminal courts, Cameron Eames had been on a highly publicized campaign to clean up New York. Contrary to the unending praise heaped upon him by the majority of the city papers, Nellie, a reporter for the World, had written a piece about a young Polish boy from the Lower East Side whom Cameron had remanded to the Tombs, Manhattan's jail, after he'd been caught stealing a loaf of bread. Though the theft was the child's first offense, he was locked up with a group of seasoned criminals. The next morning, the guards found his body stuffed under a mattress at the back of the cell. He'd been a.s.saulted-a polite word for raped-and choked to death. ~Will's stomach turned when he'd read the article. He'd wondered how Cameron could've been so stupid.

"Cameron had a moral choice to make and he made it," Will Junior said, defending his friend.

Nellie laughed. "Please, McClane. The more so-called criminals he locks up, the more press he gets. We both know that. It's not morality that's driving Cameron, it's ambition."

"All right then, Nellie, Cam's ambitious. So am I and so are you. There's nothing wrong with that," Will Junior said hotly. "He wants to be the youngest justice ever named to the state supreme court. He'll do it, too, despite your attempts to slander him. His campaign's a success. He's put more criminals behind bars in a year than his predecessor did in the last three."

Will gave his son a long look. "All small-timers from what I hear.

Cameron needs to go after the root of the problem if he's going to make a difference, son-the gaming-hall owners, the madams, the gang bosses. And the police officers who take bribes from them."

Will Junior snorted. "I said Cameron was ambitious, Dad, not crazy. The important thing is that he's locking up the lowlife. Making the streets safer for the rest of us."

"A wise judge understands the difference between stealing for gain and stealing to eat."

"You're too soft-hearted, Dad," Will Junior said irritably, ever impatient at subtleties, always one for the black-and-white view. "Stealing is stealing. The immigrant cla.s.ses are overrunning the city. They have to be taught that their contempt for the law won't be tolerated here."

"Easy to say when you've never been hungry," Nellie said.

"How about the baker he stole from? What about him? Hasn't he got a family to feed?" Will Junior asked, his voice rising.

"For G.o.d's sake! It was a loaf of bread, not the contents of the man's cash register ... "

Will gritted his teeth as Will Junior and Nellie continued their debate. He loved his son, but he found him-and many members of his generation ruthless in their pursuit of money and standing and harsh toward the less fortunate. He had reminded him on many occasions that both the McClanes and their mother's family-the Van der Leydens-had at one time been immigrants. As had members of all the city's wealthy families. But Will's lectures made no difference to his son. He was an American. And those getting off the boat at Castle Garden were not. Italian, Irish, Chinese, Polish nationality made no difference. They were lazy, stupid, and dirty. Their numbers spelled ruin for the country. The boy's intolerance was something he'd learned for himself, not from his parents. And it was the one thing Will did not like about him.

As he regarded Will Junior, gesturing at Nellie now, he wondered what he would make of Fiona. He knew the answer: he'd be appalled at the idea of his father seeing a woman who worked for her living, one who was a member of the very immigrant cla.s.s he despised.

"No, Nellie! You're wrong!" he exclaimed, his voice too high for his father's liking. Will was just about to admonish him when they were interrupted by a loud, pushy "h.e.l.lo, darlings!" Will stifled a groan. This would not help matters. The voice belonged to Peter Hylton, editor of "Peter's Patter," a feature in the World that was part of a new phenomenon in publishing known as the society pages. Designed to amuse readers with reports of the affairs and amus.e.m.e.nts of wealthy New Yorkers, "Peter's Patter" had become the newspaper's most popular feature, helping to push its already huge circulation through the roof. No one admitted to reading it. but everyone did. When the column praised a play, the theater's box office was swamped. If it panned a restaurant, it closed within a week.

Will thought the column an appalling and irresponsible misuse of the press, little better than rank gossip-mongering. Hylton did not respect the codes of public decency. He thought nothing of mentioning that a certain coal baron had been seen at the opera in the company of a woman not his wife. Or that the recent sale of a Fifth Avenue mansion was due to the owner's losses at the racetrack.

The papers had recently begun to print photographs, and Hylton often had his photographers lurking outside of restaurants and theaters with their infernal cameras and flashes. Will had been blinded by them on more than one occasion. He did not like the man, and Will Junior despised him. Three years ago, when Will Junior had made his first bid for a seat in Congress, Hylton had written about his fondness for chorus girls. He was unmarried at the time, but such behavior did not sit well with the public. He lost the election. He tried to sue Hylton, but had no case. Hylton had described him, but had never actually referred to him by name. When pressed by Will Junior's attorney, he denied he'd been talking about him. He said his subject was another young businessman from a prominent family. Will Junior had had to drop his complaint.