The Prodigal Daughter (Kane & Abel 2)

“I would have described them as outrageous,” said Richard.

“That’s because you’re color-blind,” said Florentyna. Having found what she was looking for, she started reading the program notes to Richard. “His name is Gianni di Ferranti and his biographical sketch says he was born in Milan in 1931 and is on his first tour with the ballet company since leaving the Institute of Modern Art in Florence. I wonder if he would consider resigning from the company and working for me.”

“I wouldn’t, with the inside information I have on the company,” said Richard helpfully.

“Perhaps he’s more adventurous than you, darling.”

“Or just mad. After all, he is Italian.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” said Florentyna, standing up.

“And how do you propose doing that?”

“By going backstage.”

“But you’ll miss the second half.”

“The second half might not change my whole life,” said Florentyna, stepping into the aisle.

Richard followed her out of the theater and they made their way around the outside of the building in silence until they reached the stage door. A young security guard pushed open his window.

“Can I help you?” he asked, sounding as if it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Yes,” Florentyna said. “I have an appointment with Gianni di Ferranti.” She sounded very self-assured.

Richard looked at his wife disapprovingly.

“Your name, please,” said the guard, picking up a phone.

“Florentyna Kane.”

The guard repeated the name into the mouthpiece, listened for a moment, then replaced the receiver.

“He says he’s never heard of you.”

Florentyna was taken aback for a moment, but Richard took out his wallet and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the ledge in front of the guard.

“Perhaps he has heard of me,” said Richard.

“You better go and find out,” said the guard, casually removing the bill. “Through the door take the corridor to your right. Second floor on the left,” he added before slamming down the window.

Richard led Florentyna to the stairs.

“Most businessmen are involved in a little bribery at some stage in their careers,” she teased.

“Now, don’t get annoyed just because your lie failed,” said Richard, grinning.

When they reached the room, Florentyna knocked firmly and put her head around the half-opened door.

A tall, dark-haired Italian was seated in one corner of the room eating spaghetti. Florentyna’s first reaction was one of admiration. He was wearing a pair of tailored jeans and blue blazer over a casual open-necked shirt. But the thing that struck her most was the young man’s long, artistic fingers. The moment he saw Florentyna he rose gracefully to his feet.

“Gianni,” she began expansively. “What a privilege—”

“No,” said the man in a soft Italian accent. “He’s in the washroom.”

Richard smirked and received a sharp kick on the ankle. Florentyna was about to speak again when the door opened and in walked a man no more than five feet five who was nearly bald, although Florentyna knew from the program notes that he was not yet thirty. His clothes were beautifully cut, but the spaghetti had had a greater effect on his waistline than on his friend’s.

“Who are these people, Valario?”

“Mrs. Florentyna Kane,” said Florentyna before the young man could speak. “And this is my husband, Richard.”

“What do you want?” he asked, not looking at her while taking the seat opposite his companion.

“To offer you a job as my designer.”

“Not another one,” he said, throwing his hands in the air.

Florentyna took a deep breath. “Who else has spoken to you?”

“In New York, Yves Saint-Laurent. In Los Angeles, Pierre Cardin. As well as countless others in London, Paris and Rome. Need I go on?”

“But did they offer you a percentage of the profits?”

What profits? Richard wanted to ask, but remembered the kick on the ankle.

“I already have six shops and we have plans for another six in the pipeline,” Florentyna continued impulsively. She hoped that Gianni di Ferranti hadn’t noticed her husband’s eyebrows rising dramatically at her words.

“The turnover could be millions within a few years,” she said.

“Saint-Laurent’s turnover already is,” said di Ferranti, still not turning to face her.

“Yes, but what did they offer you?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars a year and one percent of the profits.”

“I’ll offer you twenty and five percent.”

The Italian waved a dismissive hand.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars and ten percent?” she said.

The Italian laughed, rose from his chair and opened the door for Florentyna and Richard to leave. She stood firm.

“You are the sort of person that would expect Zeffirelli to be available to design your next shop while still hoping to retain Luigi Ferpozzi as honorary advisor. Not that I could expect you to understand what I’m talking about,” he added.

“Luigi,” said Florentyna haughtily, “is a dear friend of mine.”

The Italian placed his hands on his hips and roared with laughter. “You Americans are all the same. Next you’ll be saying you designed the Pope’s vestments.”

Richard had some sympathy with him.

“Your bluff is called, Signora. Ferpozzi came to see the show in Los Angeles only last week and spoke to me at length about my work. Now at least I have found a way to be rid of you.” Di Ferranti left the door open and picked up the phone on his dresser and without another word dialed a 213 number. No one spoke while he waited for the call to be answered. Eventually Florentyna heard a voice from the other end of the line.

“Luigi?” said di Ferranti. “It’s Gianni. I have an American lady with me called Mrs. Kane who claims she is a friend of yours.”

He listened for a

few moments, his smile becoming broader.

“He says he doesn’t know anyone called Mrs. Kane and perhaps you would feel more at home on Alcatraz?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Florentyna. “But tell him he thinks my father built it.”

Gianni di Ferranti repeated Florentyna’s sentiments over the phone. As he listened to the reply his face became puzzled. He finally looked back at her. “Luigi says to offer you a cup of tea. But only if you’ve brought your own pot.”

It took Florentyna two lunches, one dinner with Richard, one with her bankers, and a big enough advance to move Gianni and his friend Valario from Milan to a new home in San Francisco to persuade the little Italian to join her as the company’s new in-house designer. Florentyna was confident that this was the breakthrough she had been looking for. In the excitement of negotiating with Gianni she quite forgot they were only six days away from going to New York to meet Richard’s father.

Florentyna and Richard were having breakfast that Monday morning when his face turned so white that she thought he was going to faint.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

He pointed to the front page of The Wall Street Journal as if unable to speak. Florentyna read the bald announcement and silently handed the paper back to her husband. He read the statement slowly for a second time to be certain he understood the full implications. The brevity and force of the words were stunning: “William Lowell Kane, the president and chairman of Lester’s Bank, resigned after Friday’s board meeting.”

Richard knew that Wall Street would put the worst interpretation possible on such a sudden departure, made without explanation or any suggestion of illness, especially as his only son, a banker, had not been invited to take his place on the board. He put his arms around Florentyna and held her close to his chest.

“Does it mean our trip to New York will be canceled?”

“Not unless your father was the cause.”

“It can’t happen—I won’t let it happen. Not after waiting so long.”