“We’re leaving New York? Please tell me that we’re going somewhere civilized where skyscrapers will be replaced with trees and exhaust fumes by fresh air.”
“We’re going home.”
“Hartford? Then it can only be Russell’s.”
“You’re right, Mr. Russell has offered me a job as vice-president of the bank, working alongside Tom.”
“Serious banking? Not just speculating in the currency market?”
“I’ll oversee his currency department, but I can promise you that it concentrates mainly on foreign exchange, not speculation. What Mr. Russell most needs is for Tom and me to work on a complete reorganization of the bank. During the past few years Russell’s has been falling behind its competitors and…” Su Ling placed her bag on the hall table and walked over to the phone. “Who are you calling?” asked Nat.
“My mother, of course, we must start looking for a house, and then we’ll have to consider a school for Luke, and once she’s got to work on that, I’ll need to be in touch with some former colleagues about a job, and then…”
“Hold on, little flower,” said Nat, taking his wife in his arms. “Am I to assume from this that you approve of the idea?”
“Approve? I can’t wait to get out of New York. The idea of Luke starting his education in a school where the kids use machetes to sharpen their pencils horrifies me. I also can’t wait…” The phone rang and Su Ling picked it up. She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s someone named Jason, from Chase Manhattan. Shall I tell him you’re no longer available?”
Nat smiled and took the phone.
“Hi, Jason, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking about your call, Nat, and we may just have an opening for you at Chase.”
“That’s kind of you, Jason, but I’ve already accepted another offer.”
“Not one of our rivals, I hope?”
“Not yet, but give me a little time,” said Nat, smiling.
When Fletcher reported to Matt Cunliffe that his father-in-law had been taken to the hospital, he was surprised to find that he was not all that sympathetic.
“Domestic crises arise fairly often,” remarked Cunliffe curtly. “We all have families to worry about. Are you sure this can’t wait until the weekend?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” said Fletcher, “I owe more to this man than anyone other than my parents.”
Fletcher had only left Bill Alexander’s room for a few moments, and already there was a less than subtle change in the atmosphere. He assumed that, by the time he returned, that change would have spread like a contagious disease to the rest of the staff.
He phoned Annie from Penn Station. She sounded calm, but relieved to know he was on his way home. When Fletcher stepped onto the train, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t brought any work with him for the first time since he joined the firm. He used the journey to consider his next move following his meeting with Bill Alexander, but he’d come to no definite conclusions by the time the train pulled into Ridgewood.
Fletcher took a cab from the station, and was not surprised to find the family car parked outside the front door, two suitcases already in the trunk, and Annie walking down the drive with Lucy in her arms. How different from his mother, he thought, yet how similar. He laughed for the first time that day.
On the journey up to Hartford, Annie reported all the details she’d picked up from her mother. Harry had suffered a heart attack a few minutes after arriving at the Capitol that morning, and was immediately rushed to the hospital. Martha was by his side, and Jimmy, Joanna and the children were already on their way down from Vassar.
“What are the doctors saying?”
“That it’s too early for anything conclusive, but Dad has been warned that if he doesn’t slow down, it could well happen again and next time it might prove fatal.”
“Slow down? Harry doesn’t know what the words mean. He’s one of life’s speeding tickets.”
“He may have been,” said Annie, “but Mom and I are going to tell him this afternoon that he has to withdraw his name as a senate candidate at the next election.”
Bill Russell stared across his desk at Nat and Tom. “It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he said. “I’ll be sixty in a couple of years’ time, and I feel I’ve earned the right not to be opening up the bank at ten every morning, and locking the front door before I go home at night. The thought of you two working together—to quote the Good Book—fills my heart with joy.”
“I don’t know about the Good Book,” said Tom, “but we feel the same way, Dad. So where do you want us to start?”
“Of course I’m aware that the bank has fallen behind its rivals during the past few years, perhaps because as a family firm we’ve put greater emphasis on customer relations than on the bottom line. Something your father would approve of, Nat, which is perhaps why he’s had an account with us for over thirty years.” Nat nodded his agreement. “You’ll also be aware that there have been one or two approaches from other banks with a view to taking us over, but that isn’t how I wanted to end my career with Russell’s—just ending up as an anonymous branch of some vast corporation. So I’ll tell you what I have in mind. I want both of you to spend your first six months taking the bank apart from top to bottom. I’ll give you carte blanche to ask any questions, open any doors, read any files, study any accounts. At the end of those six months, you will report back what needs to be done. And don’t give a moment’s thought to trying to placate my feelings, because I know that if Russell’s is to survive into the next century, it will need a complete overhaul. So what’s your first question?”
“Can I have the front-door keys?” asked Nat.