He took a laden cab back to the apartment, and filled the tiny elevator three times before he had finally deposited everything in his study.
Nat sat alone at his desk. The phone hadn’t rung once since he’d arrived home. The apartment felt strangely empty without Su Ling and Luke; he’d got used to them both being there to greet him whenever he came home. Thank God the boy was too young to know what they were going through.
At midday, he went to the kitchen, opened a can of corned beef hash and tipped it into a frying pan, added some butter, cracked two eggs on top and waited until they looked done.
After lunch, he typed out a list of financial institutions that had been in contact with him during the past year, and then settled down to call them one by one. He started with a bank that had phoned him only a few days before.
“Oh hi, Nat, yes sorry, we managed to fill the position last Friday.”
“Good afternoon, Nat, that sounds like an interesting proposition, give me a couple of days to think about it, and I’ll come back to you.”
“It was good of you to call, Mr. Cartwright, but…”
When Nat had reached the end of the list, he put the phone down. He’d just been devalued, and there was obviously a sell order out on him. He checked his current account. It was still showing a healthy balance, but for how much longer? He glanced up at the oil painting above his desk, Reclining Nude by Camoin. He wondered just how long it would be before he had to return one of his mistresses to the gallery pimp.
The phone rang. Had one of them thought about it and called him back? He picked it up and heard a familiar voice.
“I must apologize, Mr. Russell,” Nat said. “I should have called you earlier.”
Once Logan had left the firm, Fletcher felt isolated and hardly a day went by when Elliot didn’t try to undermine him, so when Bill Alexander asked to see him on Monday morning, Fletcher sensed it wasn’t going to be a friendly encounter.
Over supper with Annie on Sunday evening, he told his wife everything that had taken place during the past few days, trying hard not to exaggerate. Annie listened in silence.
“If you don’t tell Mr. Alexander the truth about his nephew, both of you will live to regret it.”
“It’s not that easy,” said Fletcher.
“The truth is always that easy,” said Annie. “Logan has been treated disgracefully, and if it hadn’t been for you, he might never have been offered another job. Your only mistake was not telling Alexander the moment the meeting was over; that’s given Elliot the confidence to go on undermining you.”
“And if he sacks me as well?”
“Then it isn’t a firm you should have joined in the first place, Fletcher Davenport, and you would certainly not be the man I chose to marry.”
When Fletcher arrived outside Mr. Alexander’s door a few minutes before nine, Mrs. Townsend ushered him straight through to the senior partner’s office.
“Have a seat,” said Bill Alexander, pointing to the chair on the other side of the desk. No “nice to see you, Fletcher,” just have a seat. No “how’s Annie and Lucy,” just have a seat. Those three words resolved Fletcher in the belief that Annie was right, and he must not be fearful of standing up for what he believed in.
“Fletcher, when you first joined Alexander Dupont and Bell nearly two years ago, I had high hopes for you, and indeed during your first year you more than lived up to my expectations. We all recall with some considerable pleasure the Higgs and Dunlop incident. But of late, you have not shown the same resolution.” Fletcher looked puzzled. He had seen Matt Cunliffe’s most recent report on him, and the word exemplary had stuck in his mind. “I think we have the right to assume a standard of loyalty second to none in the legal profession,” continued Alexander. Fletcher remained silent, not yet sure of the crime he was about to be charged with. “It has been brought to my attention that you were also in the bar with Fitzgerald on the night he was having a drink with his friend.”
“Information supplied by your nephew, no doubt,” said Fletcher, “whose role in this whole affair has been far from impartial.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Quite simply that Mr. Elliot’s version of events is based totally on self-interest, as I feel sure a man of your perspicacity has already worked out.”
“Perspicacity?” said Alexander. “Was it perspicacious of you to be seen in the company of Fitzgerald’s friend?” He emphasized the word again.
“I did not meet Logan’s friend, as I feel sure Mr. Elliot told you, unless he only wanted you to know half the story. I left for Ridgewood…”
“But Ralph told me that you later returned.”
“Yes I did, and like any good spy, your nephew must also have reported that I only went back to pick up my scarf, which had fallen out of the sleeve of my overcoat.”
“No, he did not report that,” said Alexander.
“Which is what I mean by only telling you half the story,” said Fletcher.
“So you didn’t speak to Logan or his friend?”