Kitabı oku: «The Stoic / Стоик», sayfa 6

“Well, do you hear me?” he demanded. “Are you going to stand there like a dummy? Oh, you women! You either fight like cats, or lie down and say nothing! God, if I could find one woman, just one, with a little sense in her nut, I’d… I’d…”

Rosalie looked up at him, her mouth twisted into a tortured smile. “Well, what would you do?” she said, quietly.

“I’d hang on to her! I might even love her! But, my God, what’s the use? Here I am, fiddling around in this hole, and accomplishing what? I belong to another world, and I’m going to get back into it! You and I are going to have to separate. It can’t be otherwise. I can’t go on like this a day longer!”

And so saying he went to the closet, and taking out his hat and overcoat, moved toward the door. Rosalie, however, edged in before him, throwing her arms around him and pressing her face to his. She was weeping.

“Oh, Bruce, oh, please! What have I done? Don’t you love me any more? Isn’t it enough that I’ll do anything you want? I don’t ask anything of you, do I? Please, Bruce, you won’t leave me, will you, Bruce?”

But Tollifer, pushing her aside, broke away.

“Don’t, Rosalie, don’t,” he went on. “I won’t stand for it! You can’t hold me this way. I’m getting out because I have to!”

He opened the door, but as he moved, Rosalie threw herself between him and the stairs.

“Oh, Bruce,” she cried, “for God’s sake, you can’t go! Listen, you can’t leave me this way! I’ll do anything, anything at all, I tell you! Oh, Bruce, I’ll get more money, I’ll get a better job. I know I can. We can move to another apartment. I’ll fix it all. Bruce, please sit down, and don’t carry on this way. I’ll kill myself if you leave me!”

But Tollifer was adamant by this time. “Oh, cut that, Rosie! Don’t be a damn fool! I know you’re not going to kill yourself, and you know it, too. Brace up! Just be calm, and I’ll see you tonight or tomorrow, maybe, but I’ve got to make a new deal, that’s all there is to it. Do you get that?”

Rosalie weakened under his gaze. She realized now that the inevitable was not to be avoided. She knew she could not hold him if he wished to go.

“Oh, Bruce,” she pleaded once more, pressing close to him. “I won’t let you go! I won’t! I won’t! You can’t go this way!”

“Can’t I?” he demanded. “Well, just watch me!” And he pulled her away from the door and went out, hurrying down the stairs. Rosalie, breathless and filled with terror, stood staring as the house door slammed, then turned wearily and re-entered the room, closing the door and leaning against it.

It was nearly time to go to rehearsal, but she shuddered as she thought of it. She didn’t care now. There was nothing… unless, maybe, he would come back… he would have to come back for his clothes…

Chapter 9

The thought which Tollifer was cherishing at this time was that he might get a job in a brokerage house or trust company dealing with the affairs, or, more particularly, the fortunes, of widows or daughters of men of wealth. His difficulty, however, was that he had passed out of the group of society handy men that flourished not only on the fringe, but in the very heart, of New York society of that day. Such men were not only useful, but at times absolutely essential, to those with money but no background who sought to enter society, as well as topassé débutantes who, because of encroaching years, wished to maintain a conspicuous place.

The qualifications were considerable, including the best American descent, appearance, social flair, and a sophisticated interest in yachting, racing, polo, tennis, riding, driving—especially the four-in-hand coach—the opera, the theater, the sporting ring. These men followed the wealthy to Paris, Biarritz, Monte Carlo, Nice, Switzerland, Newport, Palm Beach; the duck blinds of the south and the country clubs everywhere. In New York their principal haunts were the smart restaurants, the “Diamond Horseshoe” of the opera, and the theaters. It was necessary that they dress well and appropriately for any occasion; be of service and skill in obtaining the best seats for a horse show, a tennis match, a football game, or the current popular play. It helped if they were able to take a hand at cards and explain the finer points of the game, or, on occasion, give advice or make suggestions as to clothes, jewels, or the decoration of a room. But, above all, they must see that the names of their patrons appeared with comparative frequency inTown Topics or the newspaper society colums.

To work at this sort of thing continuously, however, meant that in some not too discreditable way, the handy man must be rewarded for the efforts, and sometimes sacrifices, he had to make, particularly the sacrifice of the zest and thrill which otherwise would come to him through his companionship with youth and beauty. For principally his attentions must be devoted to the middle-aged, those like Aileen, who feared the dreadful hour of social or emotional boredom.

Well, Tollifer had been through all that, years of it, and at about thirty-one or -two, had begun to tire of it. And, from sheer boredom and sometimes sickness of heart over the whole thing, he would disappear, to drink and amuse himself with a beauty of the stage world who had fire and love and devotion to offer him. Just the same, at this time he was once more entertaining the thought of visiting such restaurants, bars, hotels, and other places as were frequented by the people who could do him the most good. He was going to brace up, stay sober, get a little money from somewhere—from Rosalie, maybe—and with it make such a sartorial and financial display as would cause him to be looked upon again as a possibility in the social sense. And then… well, watch him this time!

Chapter 10

In New York at this time was Aileen racking her wearied and disillusioned wits as to how to make a life for herself. Although by now the Cowperwood mansion, as it was called, was one of the most ornate and beautiful houses in New York, still, for Aileen, it was but a hollow shell, an emotional as well as a social grave.

As she saw it now, she had greatly wronged Cowperwood’s first wife and their children. She did not know then what his wife would have to suffer. But she knew all its bitterness now. In spite of her sacrificial love, having given up home, friends, society, reputation, for Cowperwood, she was now in the depths of despair. Other women, ruthless, cruel, had attached themselves to him, not for love, but for his wealth and fame. He took them because of their youth and charm—which were in no way superior to her own of but a few years before. But she would never let him go! Never! Never should one of these women call herself Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood! She had sealed that tie with a true love and a true marriage, and never should that be taken from her! He would not dare assail her in any open or legal way. The world, as well as she herself, knew too much, or she would see that it did, if ever he sought to displace her. She had never forgotten his open declaration of love for the young and beautiful Berenice Fleming. Where was she now? Possibly with him. But she could never have him legally. Never!

And yet, how lonely she was! This great house, these rooms with their floors of marble, their carved doors and ceilings, their painted and decorated walls! The servants, who might be spies, for all she knew! And so little to do, so few people to see, so few who wanted to see her! The occupants of those great houses that lined the Avenue not deigning to notice either herself or Cowperwood, for all of their wealth!

There were a few seeking admirers whom she tolerated, and one or two relatives, among them her two brothers, who lived in Philadelphia. They were wealthy and socially significant themselves, but because they were religious and conservative and their wives and children did not approve of her, she saw little of them. They came occasionally for lunch or dinner, or to stay the night when they were in New York, but always without their families. And it would be a long time before she would see them again. She knew how it was, and they did, too.

But as for life other than this, there was no one who meant anything to her. Actors and society wastrels, who occasionally sought her company, mainly to borrow money, yet really interested only in their younger friends. How could she, after Cowperwood, imagine herself the beloved of one of these petty pleasure-seekers. Desire, yes! But only after dreary and lagging hours of loneliness and torturing thoughts, turning to anyone, so long as there was physical attraction, a patter of words, and liquor! Oh, life, loneliness, age, its futility, and the flight of all that had been worth while!

What a mockery, this great house, with its galleries of paintings and sculpture and tapestries! For Cowperwood, her husband, so rarely came. And when he did come, always so cautious, though pretending affection before the servants. And they naturally subservient to him as her superior, as in truth he was because of his power to dispose of everything that was here maintained by him. And if she chose to scoff or rebel, how suave and winsome he could be, taking her hand or touching her arm gently, and saying: “But, Aileen, you must remember! You are and always will be Mrs. Frank Cowperwood, and as such you must do your part!”

And if for the moment she raged or wept, eyes filling and lips trembling, or hurried from his presence in a storm of emotion, he would follow her, and after a long argument or subtle appeal bring her to his point of view. Or failing that, he might send her flowers or suggest that after dinner they go together to the opera—a concession which almost invariably betrayed her vain and weak soul. For to appear with him in public: did not that, in part at least, prove that she was still his wife, thechâtelaine of his home?

Chapter 11

De Sota Sippens, departing for London with such assistants as he needed, took a house in Knightsbridge when he arrived there, and proceeded to gather all the data he felt Cowperwood would require.

One of the things that struck him at once was the fact that in connection with two oldest undergrounds—the Metropolitan Railway and the District Railway, or Inner Circle, as it was called—there was a downtown loop, similar to that which had made the Cowperwood system of Chicago so useful to himself and so irritating and expensive to his rivals. These two London lines, the first of the world’s undergrounds, both badly built and operated by steam, actually enclosed and reached all of the principal downtown points, and so served as a key to the entire underground situation. Paralleling each other at a distance of about a mile, and joining at the ends in order to afford mutual running rights, they covered everything from Kensington and the Paddington Station on the west to Aldgate in the Bank of England district on the east. In fact, everything of any importance—the main streets, the theater district, the financial district, the shopping district, the great hotels, the railway stations, the houses of Parliament—was in this area.

Sippens was quick to learn that these lines, due to their poor equipment and management, were paying little more than their expenses. But theycould be made profitable, for there was as yet, apart from buses, no other such convenient route to these districts.

Moreover, there was not only considerable public dissatisfaction with the old-fashioned steam service on these lines, but a distinct desire on the part of a younger financial element now entering the underground field to see them electrified and brought up to date. Among this element, and one of the principal minority shareholders in the District Railway, was Lord Stane, of whom Cowperwood had spoken. He was also one of the most prominent figures in the London social world.

This picture of the situation, written at great length by Sippens, was sufficient to stir Cowperwood. The central loop idea, if seized upon now, and bolstered with franchises or acts for extensions into the outlying areas, would give him exactly the type of control which he needed to make him the head and center of any future development.

And yet, unless he chose to dig into his own pockets, where was he to get the cash for all this? Probably a $100,000,000 eventually! He was at the moment dubious of inspiring a financial following which would furnish the capital, particularly since no one of the present London tubes appeared to be more than paying expenses. Certainly, this venture was a daring thing to consider at this time, and would have to be preceded and accompanied by an extremely subtle barrage of propaganda which would paint him in the best possible light.

He thought over all of the important American financial leaders, and their institution and banks, principally in the east, to whom, by reason of past dealings, he could now appeal. It should be made plain that he desired the credit rather than any exorbitant financial profit. For Berenice was right: this last and greatest of his financial adventures, if it came to pass, should be on a higher level than any of his previous enterprises, and so atone for all sins coupled with his customary jugglery.

In his heart, of course, he was by no means prepared to give over entirely his old tricks in connection with organizing and managing a traction development. Rather, since his schemes were not as well-known in England as in his own country, he was more than ever bent upon organizing a company for this and a company for that, one for each branch or existing system that was to be added or done over, the watered stocks of which would be sold to a gullible public. That was the way of such things. The public could always be hoodwinked into buying anything that was made to look sufficiently promising. It depended on the strength, respectability and stability that might be given to it by the proper associations. Having decided all this in his own mind, he at once cabled Sippens his thanks and instructions to remain in London pending further word.

In the meantime, Berenice’s mother had arrived in Chicago and established a temporaryménage, and both Berenice and Cowperwood, in their different ways, made clear to her what had happened and how from now on they were all to be joined in this new and possibly troublesome relationship. Although at first, and in the presence of Berenice, Mrs. Carter did indulge in some tears—based principally on self-criticism of her past, which, as she truly enough insisted, was the real cause of her daughter’s present course—nevertheless she was by no means so reduced as her quite unstable conscience at times made her believe. For, after all, she reflected, Cowperwood was a great man, and, as he himself now stated to her, Berenice would not only inherit a goodly portion of his estate, but if Aileen died, or granted him a divorce, he would most certainly marry her. For the present, he, of course, was to continue as before: as Mrs. Carter’s friend and the guardian of her daughter. Whatever happened, and whatever the rumours from time to time, this explanation was to be maintained. And to that end, their public contacts were to be as few and as conventional as possible. What he and Berenice might privately devise for themselves was their own affair, but they would never travel on the same boat or train, nor stop at the same hotel anywhere.

As to London, Cowperwood fancied there might be considerable social life for all of them there, particularly since, if all went well, he expected to ally himself with the higher financial circles and possibly to use his connection with Berenice and her mother as a means of inducing a meeting of forces and friends most favorable to him at their home, since he was looking to Mrs. Carter to maintain such an establishment as would seem natural and proper for a widow and her daughter who were wealthy and of good repute.