“Don’t worry about it, Vic,” said Seb, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure your father’s got a few more miles left on the clock.”
However, at Seb’s weekly meeting with the chairman, Mr. Kaufman did ask, on three separate occasions, the name of the client they were representing on one particular land development deal, although Seb knew he’d done business with him on at least two occasions in the past.
Seb had spent so much of his spare time thinking about what was happening at another bank just a few streets away that it hadn’t crossed his mind that his future at Kaufman’s could not be taken for granted. He tried not to think about the worst-case scenario: the old man having to retire because of ill-health, Farthings making a takeover bid for Kaufman’s, and Seb having to write a second resignation letter to the new joint chairman of the two banks.
He even considered canceling his trip to the States, but he knew that if he didn’t leave by the last tide on Friday evening, he would never have the courage to go through with it.
* * *
Seb thoroughly enjoyed his father’s company on the five-day voyage to New York, not least because, unlike his mother, Harry didn’t spend his time asking endless questions Seb didn’t want to answer.
They always ate together in the evening, and sometimes at lunch. During the day, his father would lock himself in his cabin, leaving the Do Not Disturb sign on his door. He spent hour upon hour going over the final draft of his latest manuscript, which he would hand to Harold Guinzburg within an hour of the ship docking.
So when Seb was taking a brisk walk around the upper deck one morning, he was surprised to find his father reclining in a deck chair, reading his favorite author.
“Does that mean you’ve finished the book?” he asked as he sat down in the deck chair next to him.
“It does,” said Harry, putting down Beware of Pity. “Now all I have to do is deliver the manuscript to Harold and wait for his opinion.”
“Do you want mine?”
“On my book? No, but on another book, yes.”
“What book are we talking about?”
“Uncle Joe,” said Harry. “Harold has offered Mrs. Babakov a hundred-thousand-dollar advance for the world rights, against a fifteen-percent royalty, and I’m not sure what to advise her.”
“But is there a chance of anyone ever finding a copy of the book?”
“I used to think there was almost none, but Harold told me that Mrs. Babakov knows where a copy can be found. The only problem is, it’s in the Soviet Union.”
“Did she tell him where in the Soviet Union?”
“No. She said she’d only tell me, which is why I’m going on to Pittsburgh once I’ve seen Harold in New York.”
Harry was surprised by his son’s next question.
“Would a hundred thousand dollars be a large sum of money to Mrs. Babakov, or is she comfortably off?”
“She escaped from Russia without a penny, so it would change her whole life.”
“Then if you think Mr. Guinzburg’s offer is fair, my advice is she should accept it. Whenever I want to close a deal, I try to find out how much the other side needs the money, because that will always influence the way I think. If they are desperate for the money, I’m in the driver’s seat. If not…”
Harry nodded.
“However, there’s a caveat in this particular case. Because if you’re the only person she’s willing to tell where the book is hidden, you can be sure she’s also hoping that you’ll be the one who’ll go and pick it up.”
“But it’s in the Soviet Union.”
“Where you’re still persona non grata. So whatever you do, don’t make any promises.”
“I wouldn’t want to let her down.”
“Dad, I know it must be fun to take on the Soviet Empire single-handedly, but it’s only James Bond who always triumphs over the KGB. So can we return to the real world, because I also need some advice.”
“Mine?”
“No, Detective Inspector Warwick’s.”