The Prodigal Daughter (Kane & Abel 2)

“Well, what is it that can’t wait, my darling?”

“It’s Miss Parker. She’s stuffy, incompetent and stupid,” said Florentyna, and she poured out to her father her version of what had happened that morning with Jessie Kovats.

Abel’s fingers never stopped tapping on his desktop as he listened to her tale. When she came to the end he flicked a switch on his intercom. “Please ask Miss Parker in the fashion shop to come up immediately.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“Florentyna, would you be kind enough to wait next door while I deal with Miss Parker.”

“Of course, Papa.”

A few minutes later, Miss Parker appeared, still looking flushed. Abel asked her what had happened. She gave an accurate account of the altercation, confining her view of Florentyna to the fact that she was a competent assistant but she had been the sole reason that Miss Kovats, a long-serving member of her staff, had left. And others, Miss Parker pointed out, might resign too if Florentyna persisted with her attitude. Abel listened, barely controlling his anger. He gave Miss Parker his opinion and told her that later that day she would receive a letter by hand confirming his decision.

“If that is what you wish, sir,” said Miss Parker, and left.

Abel buzzed his secretary. “Would you please ask my daughter to come back in, Miss Deneroff.”

Florentyna strode in. “Did you tell Miss Parker what you thought, Papa?”

“Yes, I did.”

“She’ll find it hard to get another job.”

“She won’t need to.”

“Won’t need to?”

“No. I gave her a raise and extended her contract,” he said, leaning forward and placing both hands firmly on his desk. “If you ever treat a member of my staff that way again, I’ll put you over my knee and thrash you and it won’t be a gentle tap with a hairbrush. Jessie Kovats has already left because of your insufferable behavior and it is obvious no one in that shop likes you.”

Florentyna stared at her father in disbelief, then burst into tears.

“And you can save your tears for someone else,” continued Abel remorselessly. “They don’t impress me. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I have a company to run. Another week of you and I would have had a crisis on my hands. You will now go down to Miss Parker and apologize for your disgraceful behavior. You will also stay away from my shops until I decide you are ready to work in them again. And that is the last time you interrupt one of my board meetings. Do you understand?”

“But, Papa—”

“No buts. You will apologize to Miss Parker immediately.”

Florentyna ran out of her father’s office and returned to her room in tears, packed her bags, left her green pastel dress on the bedroom floor and took a cab to the airport.

On learning of her departure, Abel phoned Miss Tredgold, who listened to what had taken place with dismay, but not with surprise.

When Florentyna arrived home, her mother was still away at a health spa trying to shed a few unwanted pounds. Only Miss Tredgold was there to greet her.

“You’re back a week early, I observe.”

“Yes, I got bored with New York.”

“Don’t lie, child.”

“Must you pick on me as well?” said Florentyna, and ran upstairs to her room. That weekend she locked herself in and only crept down to the kitchen at odd times for meals. Miss Tredgold made no attempt to see her.

On the first day of school Florentyna put on one of the smart pastel shirts with the new-style button-down collar she had bought at Bergdorf Goodman. She knew it would make every other girl at Girls Latin jealous. She was going to show them all how a future president of the Student Council should behave. As no member of Council could be elected for two weeks, she wore a shirt of a different color every day and took upon herself the responsibilities of president. She even started to think about what type of car she would talk her father into when she had won the election. At all times she avoided Edward Winchester, who had put his own name forward for Council, and she laughed openly at any comments made about his popularity. On the Monday of the third week, Florentyna went to morning assembly to hear herself confirmed as the new student president.

When Miss Allen, the headmistress, had read out the full list, Florentyna could not believe her ears. She had not even finished in the first six. In fact, she was only barely the runner-up, and of all people, Edward Winchester had been elected president. As she left the hall, no one commiserated with her and she spent the day in a silent daze at the back of the classroom. When she returned home that night, she crept up to Miss Tredgold’s room and knocked gently on the door.

“Come.”

Florentyna opened the door slowly and looked toward Miss Tredgold, who was reading at her desk.

“They didn’t make me president,” she said quietly. “In fact, they didn’t even elect me to the Council.”

“I know,” Miss Tredgold replied, closing her Bible.

“How can you have known?” asked Florentyna.

“Because I wouldn’t have voted for you myself.” The governess paused. “But that’s an end of the matter, child.”

Florentyna ran across the room and threw her arms around Miss Tredgold, who held her tight.

“Good, now we shall have to start rebuilding bridges. Dry your tears, my dear, and we shall begin immediately. There is no time to be lost. Pad and pencil are needed.”

Florentyna wrote down the list dictated by Miss Tredgold and did not argue with any of her instructions. That night she wrote long letters to her father, Miss Parker—enclosing another letter for Jessie Kovats—Edward Winchester, and finally, although the name was not on her list, to Miss Tredgold. The next day she went to confession with Father O’Reilly. On returning to school, Florentyna helped the newly appointed secretary with her first minutes, showing her the system she had found to work most satisfactorily. She wished the new president luck and promised that she would help him and his Council if she was ever needed. She spent the next week answering any queries that came up from the student councillors but never volunteered advice. When Edward met her in the corridor a few days later he told her that the Council had voted to allow her to keep all her privileges. Miss Tredgold advised her to accept Edward’s kind offer with courtesy but at no time to take advantage of it. Florentyna put all her new New York shirts in a bottom drawer and locked them away.

A few days later the headmistress called for her. Florentyna feared it would take longer to regain her respect, however determined she was to do so. When Florentyna arrived at her study, the tiny, immaculately dressed woman gave her a friendly smile and motioned to a comfortable seat by her side.

“You must have been very disappointed by the election results.”

“Yes, Miss Allen,” said Florentyna, assuming she was to receive further chastisement.

“But by all accounts you have learned greatly from the experience and I suspect you will be wanting to make amends.”

“It’s too late, Miss Allen. I leave at the end of the year and can now never be president.”

“True, true. So we must look for other mountains to climb. I retire at the end of the year, having been headmistress for twenty-five years, and I confess there is little left that I wish to achieve. The boys and girls of Latin have excellent admission records to Harvard, Yale, Radcliffe and Smith, and we have always been better than every other school in Illinois and as good as any on the East Coast. However, there is one achievement that has eluded me.”

“What’s that, Miss Allen?”

“The boys have won every major scholarship to the Ivy League universities at least once, Princeton three times, but one scholarship has eluded the girls for a quarter of a century. That is the James Adams Wo

olson Prize Scholarship in the Classics at Radcliffe. I wish to enter your name for that scholarship. Should you win the prize, my cup will be full.”

“I would like to try,” said Florentyna, “but my record lately—”

“Indeed,” said the headmistress, “but as Mrs. Churchill pointed out to Winston when he was surprisingly beaten in an election, ‘That may yet turn out to be a blessing in disguise.’”

“‘Some disguise.’” They both smiled.

That night, Florentyna studied the entry form for the James Adams Woolson Prize. The scholarship was open to every girl in America between the ages of sixteen and eighteen on July 1 of that year. There were three papers, one for Latin, one for Greek and a general paper on current affairs.

During the ensuing weeks, Florentyna spoke only Latin and Greek to Miss Tredgold before breakfast, and every weekend Miss Allen assigned her three general questions to be completed by the following Monday morning. As the examination day drew nearer, Florentyna became aware that the hopes of the whole school were with her. She sat awake at night with Cicero, Virgil, Plato and Aristotle, and every morning after breakfast she would write five hundred words on such varied subjects as the Twenty-second Amendment, the significance of President Truman’s power over Congress during the Korean War—even on the impact that television would have in going nationwide.

At the end of each day, Miss Tredgold checked through Florentyna’s work, adding footnotes and comments before they would both collapse into bed, only to be up at six-thirty the next morning to work their way through further old scholarship examination papers. Far from gaining confidence, Florentyna confided to Miss Tredgold that she became more frightened as each day passed.

The prize exam was set for early March at Radcliffe, and on the eve of departure day Florentyna unlocked her bottom drawer and selected her favorite of the New York shirts. Miss Tredgold accompanied her to the station and the few words they spoke on the way were in Greek. Her final words were: “Don’t spend the longest time on the easiest question.”