The Prodigal Daughter (Kane & Abel 2)

“Not for three weeks at least,” said Florentyna. “I want to be married in a church and they’ll have to read the banns first.”

“So you’ll be living in sin,” declared Claude as he drove past the “San Francisco Welcomes Careful Drivers” sign. “Quite the modern couple. I always wanted to, but Bella wouldn’t hear of it.”

“And why did you leave New York so suddenly?” asked Bella, ignoring Claude’s comment.

Florentyna explained how she had met Richard and the historic feud that existed between their fathers. Bella and Claude listened incredulously to the story, both remaining unusually silent, until the car came to a halt.

“This is our home,” said Claude. He put the brakes on firmly and left the car in first gear.

Florentyna got out on the side of a steep hill not quite overlooking the bay.

“We go higher up the hill when Claude becomes a partner,” said Bella. “But this will have to do for now.”

“It’s fantastic,” said Florentyna as they entered the little house. She smiled when she saw hockey sticks in the umbrella stand.

“I’ll take you straight to your room so you can unpack.” Bella led her two guests up a small winding staircase to the spare room on the top floor. “It may not be the Presidential Suite at the Baron, but it’s better than joining the beatniks on the streets.”

It was some weeks before Florentyna discovered that Bella and Claude had spent the afternoon lugging their double bed up the stairs to the spare room and carrying the two singles back down so that Richard and Florentyna could spend their first night together.

It was 4 A.M. New York time when Florentyna and Richard finally climbed into bed.

“Well, now that Grace Kelly is no longer available, I suppose I’m stuck with you. Although I don’t know, I think Claude may be right. Perhaps we should live in sin.”

“If you and Claude lived together in sin, no one in San Francisco would even notice.”

“Any regrets so far?”

“Yes. I always hoped I’d end up with a man who slept on the left-hand side of the bed.”

In the morning, after a Bella-type breakfast, Florentyna and Richard scoured the papers for jobs.

“We must try and find something quickly. I don’t think our money will last for more than about a month,” said Florentyna.

“It may be easier for you. I can’t believe that many banks will offer me a job without a degree or at least a reference from my father.”

“Don’t worry,” said Florentyna, ruffling his hair. “We can beat both our fathers.”

Richard turned out to be right. It took Florentyna only three days and her prospective employers one phone call to the personnel director at Bloomingdale’s before she was offered a position at a young fashion shop called Wayout Columbus, which had advertised for a “bright sales assistant” in the Chronicle. It was only another week before the manager realized what a bargain they had picked up.

Richard, on the other hand, plodded around San Francisco from bank to bank. The personnel director always asked him to call back and when he did, there suddenly “wasn’t a position available at the present time for someone with his qualifications.” As the day of the wedding drew nearer, Richard became increasingly anxious.

“You can’t blame them,” he told Florentyna. “They all do a lot of business with my father and they won’t want to upset him.”

“Bunch of cowards. Can you think of anyone who has had a row with Lester’s Bank and therefore refuses to deal with them?”

Richard buried his head in his hands and considered the question for a few moments. “Only the Bank of America. My father had a quarrel with them once over a stop-loss guarantee which they took rather a long time to honor and it resulted in a considerable loss in interest. He swore he would never do business with them again. It’s worth a try—I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”

When the manager interviewed him the next day he asked if the reason Richard had applied to work at the Bank of America was the well-known disagreement with his father.

“Yes, sir,” replied Richard.

“Good, then we have something in common. You will start on Monday as a junior teller, and if you are indeed the son of William Kane I don’t imagine you will stay in that position for long.”

On the Saturday of their third week in San Francisco, Richard and Florentyna were married in a simple ceremony at St. Edward’s Church on California Street. Father O’Reilly—accompanied by Florentyna’s mother—flew in from Chicago to conduct the service. Claude gave the bride away and then ran around to Richard’s side to be best man while Bella was the matron of honor, gargantuan in a pink maternity smock. The six celebrated that night with a dinner at DiMaggio’s on Fisherman’s Wharf. Florentyna’s and Richard’s combined weekly salaries didn’t cover the final bill, so Zaphia came to the rescue.

“If you four want to eat out again,” added Zaphia, “just give me a call and I’ll be out on the next plane.”

Bride and groom crept into bed at one o’clock in the morning.

“I never thought I would end up married to a bank teller.”

“I never thought I would end up married to a shop assistant, but sociologically it ought to make an ideal partnership.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t end with sociology,” said Florentyna as Richard turned off the light.

Abel tried every means at his disposal to discover where Florentyna had disappeared. After days of phone calls, telegrams and even attempts to involve the police, he realized he had only one lead left open. He dialed a number in Chicago.

“Hello,” said a voice every bit as cold as William Kane’s.

“You must know why I’m calling.”

“I can guess.”

“How long have you known about Florentyna and Richard Kane?”

“About three months. Florentyna flew up to Chicago and told me all about him. Later I met Richard at the wedding. She didn’t exaggerate. He’s a rare man.”

“Do you know where they are right now?” demanded Abel.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Find out for yourself.” The line went dead. Someone else who didn’t want to help.

On the desk in front of him lay an unopened file giving details of his forthcoming trip to Europe. He flicked over the pages. Two airplane tickets, two reservations in London, Edinburgh and Cannes. Two opera tickets, two theater tickets, but now only one person was going. Florentyna would not be opening the Edinburgh Baron or the Cannes Baron.

He sank into a fitful sleep from which he didn’t want to be wakened. George found him slumped at his desk at eight o’clock the next morning.

He promised Abel that by the time he had returned from Europe, he would have located Florentyna, but Abel now realized—after reading Florentyna’s letter again and again—that even if he did, she would not agree to see him.

Chapter

Fifteen

“I would like to borrow thirty-four thousand dollars,” said Florentyna.

“What do you need the money for?” said Richard coldly.

“I want to take a lease on a building on Nob Hill to open a fashion shop.”

“What are the terms of the lease?”

“Ten years, with an option to renew.”

“What security can you offer against the loan?”

“I own three thousand shares in the Baron Group.”

“But that’s a private company,” said Richard, “and the shares are in effect worthless as they can’t be traded over the counter.”

“But the Baron Group is worth fifty million dollars of anybody’s money, and my shares represent one percent of the company.”

“How did you come into possession of these shares?”

“My father is the chairman of the company and he gave them to me on my twenty-first birthday.”

“Then why don’t you borrow the money direct from him?”

“Oh, hell,” said Florentyna. “Will they be that demanding?”

“I’m afraid so, Jessie.”

“Are all bank managers going to be as tough as you? They never treated me like this in Chicago.”

“That’s because they had the security of your father’s account. Anyone who doesn’t know you is not going to be as accommodating. A loan manager has to consider that every new transaction will not be repaid, so unless his risk is covered twice over, it’s his job that will be on the line. When you borrow money you must always look across the table and consider the other person’s point of view. Everyone who wants to borrow money is sure they are on to a winner, but the manager knows that over fifty percent of the deals put up to him will eventually fail, or at best break even. So the manager has to pick and choose carefully to be certain he can always see a way of retrieving his money. My father used to say that most financial deals saw a return of one percent for the bank, which didn’t allow you the opportunity to make a one hundred percent loss more than once every five years.”

“That all makes sense, so how do I answer ‘Why don’t you go to your father’?”