Titanic 2012 Part 23

I placed the phone into my carryall, which had been placed into the boat, no doubt while I lay in a drugged stupor. All my clothes were neatly pressed and folded.

Henry. Right and proper to the last.

Such an enigmatic man, so devoted to duty, just like the captain. Two dinosaurs in a world that no longer had any room for them.

The t.i.tanic was farther away now, and I noticed all its lights were ablaze, and I could hear, very faintly, the strains of a waltz being played by the band. I glanced at my watch, and saw it was now just after eleven. In about half an hour, at precisely 11:40, the explosive rivets would detonate, ripping open the hull and letting in the icy Atlantic-just as it did one hundred years before.

And just as it did on that cold April night so long ago, R.M.S. t.i.tanic would crack in half and sink to a watery grave two and a half miles down to rest beside its rusted ancestor. Only this time, no other lifeboats would be launched.

This time, there would only be one survivor....

20.

I closed the MacBook and sat back in my chair, regarding Solly and Ken with tired eyes and a battered soul. At their request, I'd returned to the Harvard Club the next day. It was now late afternoon and the sun slanted through the Commonwealth Lounge's windows, making bright grid patterns on the thick red carpet. I took a sip of my wine and spoke.

"In case you were wondering, I did what Harlan asked me, what I'd promised him. I didn't use the satellite phone until dawn the next morning. In all, I spent two full days in that lifeboat before a Coast Guard helicopter found me and brought me back to their station in Portland, Maine. Except for some minor exposure, I was fine. And that was the end of it. Now you know...."

Ken and Solly were silent, as were the half dozen other members scattered about the lounge who'd listened in. That old cliche about a pin dropping would have found a home there.

Solly removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and rubbed the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping his lungs. "So, that's it, then," he said, drawing out the words. "Harlan and all those people just pulled the G.o.dd.a.m.ned plug. Is that what you're telling us?"

"You calling me a liar, Solly? You heard those people in their own words. You saw the looks in their eyes. They all wanted to die."

"And I suppose that broad you met, she wanted to die, too."

"Yes," I said, meeting his smoldering gaze.

"Well, I think it's c.r.a.p. There's something you're not telling us. Harlan wouldn't do that!"

I shook my head, and gathered up my disks. I could see this whole thing had been a ma.s.sive waste of time. Some people, when faced with a situation of such horrific proportions, refuse to acknowledge the truth of it, even when the evidence is shoved down their throats.

"Where are you going?" Solly demanded, sitting up in his chair.

"I don't know. Out of here."

"You sit down and tell me the f.u.c.king truth!"

"Come on, Solly, cool it," Ken said, touching him on the arm.

The big man shook him off. "b.u.t.ton it, Ken, Trevor and I are talking. Why don't you go and play businessman, or something."

Ken leapt up from his chair and delivered a roundhouse punch to Solly's chin, knocking him over backwards onto the carpet. He lay there, stunned-both from the blow and Ken's unexpected reaction.

Ken stood over him, pointing a finger down into his chubby face.

"This is the last G.o.dd.a.m.ned time you ever put me down. You hear me, you fat piece of s.h.i.+t?" Solly nodded dumbly, rubbing his chin. "Good, then I want you to get up and get the h.e.l.l out of here, go take Karen to a show...or something."

Solly struggled to his feet, his face mottled red. He looked as if he was going to say something else, to get in the last word, as he'd always done before. Then he deflated, looking for all the world like what he was: a middle-aged bully who'd finally been put in his place.

"Screw it," he said, and stalked out of the room.

After Solly left, Ken turned to me. "I'm sorry for that, Trev."

"I'm not," I said, smiling. "I've wanted to do that for years. But I'm glad it was you."

Ken gave me a lopsided grin. "Yeah, me too."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks, but I've got to be going. I've got a date."

"Hey, that's great! And it's about time."

"I thought so, too. I saw Marge and her boyfriend down at Fanueil Hall the other day. She looked so happy. I was angry as h.e.l.l at first, wanted to wring her neck. But all of a sudden I realized she had every right to be happy. And so did I. The next day I asked out my Executive Vice President. Boy, was she surprised."

"Did she accept?"

"Yeah. And you know what she said? 'What took you so long?' Can you beat that?" Ken laughed. "You know, Trev, for what it's worth, I'm sorry, for Harlan, for Maddy, for a lot of things. Mostly for being such a spineless wimp."

"But not anymore."

"No, not anymore.... You going to be all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got a book to write."

"Yeah, well that's an understatement," Ken said, his grin widening.

I stood up and stuck out my hand. Ken knocked it aside and enveloped me in a bear hug.

"You take care, kiddo."

Hearing him use Harlan's pet name for me brought tears to my eyes. He clapped me on the back and left.

A few minutes later I did too, hailing a cab at the corner of Ma.s.sachusetts and Commonwealth Avenues.

When I got home, I set up the MacBook at my desk and brought up my word processor and the first two chapters. While I liked what I'd written, there were a couple of parts still bothering me and I wanted to get right to it, as Marty was now calling me three times a day, wanting to know how I was doing.

"Time to screw the muse, right Marty?" I said with a smile I barely felt.

"You have a call," Millie said, her voice booming through the surround speakers. Startled, I reached for the volume and turned it down a few notches.

"Who's it from?"

"Jane Hurddiger."

I frowned, trying to place the name. Then I remembered: Harlan's attorney. "Put her through, Millie."

"Executing."

The screen faded up on the lawyer and for a moment I was taken aback. Gone were the conservative clothes, replaced by a red silk kimono, and instead of the tight bun, her hair now hung to her shoulders, the feathered cut flattering the lines of her face. The transformation was nothing less than staggering and it must have shown on my face.

"Are you alright, Mr. Hughes?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry, I was in the middle of a rewrite."

She smiled and the warmth of it was even more disconcerting. "I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Hughes, but I wanted to let you know I may have a buyer for the Gramercy Park properties."

Despite the makeover she was still all business.

"Who is it?"

She looked down and riffled through her papers. "Hold on, I have it right here.... Ah, a Mr. Solomon Rubens."

I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. Harlan was barely cold, and Solly was already circling the corpse. For a fleeting moment I contemplated pulling the properties off the market just to tweak him for all the years of c.r.a.p he'd put us through, but I decided to let it go. One thing I knew about Solly: Harlan had been his only true friend.

Jane looked confused. "I fail to see what's so funny, Mr. Hughes. Is this buyer suitable?"

"Oh, his money's green enough, if that's what you mean."

"Excellent. Then I think it's time we consider what to do with your proceeds," she said.

The last thing I wanted to be was another vulture-like Solly-and I was about to say as much, when an idea flashed into my mind. It was just like the old cliche with the lightbulb going off, at least it felt like that.

"Jane- Excuse me, may I call you Jane?" I asked, leaning toward the screen.

The attorney smiled. "Certainly, Mr. Hughes."

"And please call me Trevor. My dad was Mr. Hughes. Anyway, here's what I'm thinking-I'd like to set up a foundation. How do I go about doing that?"

"Well, the entire process usually takes about a year, unless you utilize what's known as a 'shelf corporation.' That's a non-profit ent.i.ty someone's already set up and is 'on the shelf' and available for purchase. However, Mr. Hughes, excuse me-Trevor-you don't actually need to set one up."

I frowned. "Why is that?"

"Because, as a part of your inheritance, Mr. Astor has given you complete control of his foundation."

I sat back and smiled, the lightbulb in my head burning a few watts brighter.

21.

The late afternoon flight into LaGuardia was uncrowded and uneventful, allowing me the time I needed to go through the ma.n.u.script for the umpteenth time. I was happy with how it was shaping up and so was Marty. The only fly in the ointment was the looming deadline, and I didn't have a proper ending yet. I'd realized that while on the phone with Harlan's attorney. Now, in a few hours, I hoped to dot the last "i" and cross the final "t."

When the plane cozied up to the terminal, I grabbed my carryall and shoulder case and made a dash for one of the car rental desks in the baggage claim area. I ended up with a late-model Shelby Cobra, its sleek black lines a vulgar display of unbridled power. It was everything I ever wanted and it was everything I could do to stay within the speed limit.

It took a little over an hour to reach Wilton and my GPS couldn't seem to find the street I'd programmed into it, but after asking directions at a gas station in Ridgefield, I pulled into the driveway of 8 s...o...b..rry Lane as the last rays of the sun died in the West. The house, a two-story colonial built in the late 1950s, was sheathed in weathered cedar shakes and sat on an immaculate three-acre lot. My nose was caressed by the odor of new-mown gra.s.s and a host of fragrant flora I had no hope of identifying. Along with crickets crying for their mates in the deepening twilight, and the amber glow emanating from the windows, it all felt like home, like some perfect Norman Rockwell canvas come to life.

There was a lump in my throat and my nerves were as taut as over-tuned guitar strings. I wondered if maybe this wasn't such a good idea; but I'd come too far-in more ways than one-and I had promises to keep.

Steeling myself, I grabbed my MacBook and walked up the flagstone path to the front door, pressing my face to one of the panes of gla.s.s set into the doorframe. I could see an older woman puttering in the kitchen through a doorway at the far end of the foyer, her moves practiced and efficient. I mouthed a silent prayer and pressed the bell, its dulcet chimes echoing through the house. The woman turned and squinted. She looked to be in her late seventies and I could see where Maddy had inherited her looks.

"I'll get it, George," she said, and walked toward me. A moment later the door swung open and she regarded me with the kindest eyes I'd ever seen, eyes as green as her daughter's.

"You must be Mr. Hughes," she said, a sad smile curving her lips. "I'm Evelyn Regehr. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you," I said, moving past her and into the foyer. She closed the door and led me into a formal living room decorated in an eclectic mixture of oriental and occidental styles-styles that should have clashed, yet somehow worked in harmony. I knew without even asking this was Maddy's touch.

"Please, sit down, Mr. Hughes. My husband will join us in a moment, he's just putting Rudy to bed. Would you like some coffee?"

"I'd love it, thanks."

Evelyn nodded and left the room.

I took a seat on the brocaded couch and unzipped my shoulder case, heaving an inward sigh of relief. The paperwork I'd brought with me sat on top of my MacBook, where I'd stuffed it in my headlong rush to get to the airport.

Evelyn returned carrying a silver tray ladened with a coffee pot, three cups, and a matching cream and sugar set. She set the tray down on a lacquered Chinese table and poured me a cup. "How do you like it, Mr. Hughes?"

"Sweet and white," I replied.

While she finished preparing my coffee, an older man strode in. He was dressed in khaki trousers and a forest-green Polo s.h.i.+rt, his snow-white hair overhanging a craggy weather-beaten face-the face of a lifelong sailor. I stood and took his proffered hand. His grip was strong, his manner aloof.

"George Regehr. Thank you for coming."

His wife handed him a cup and they each took one of the overstuffed chairs facing me. What followed was an awkward silence made even more excruciating by the loud ticking from the grandfather clock standing guard in the corner behind my hosts. It was George who finally spoke up.

"We don't condone what Maddy did," he said, putting down his coffee and fixing me with a level gaze. "We're Catholic, you see. And I don't much care to be reminded my little girl is burning in h.e.l.l. Why are you here, Mr. Hughes?"

"George, please!" Evelyn said, alarmed.

"Now, Evey, I agreed to let him come, despite the fact you couldn't tell me why. Now that he's here, I think I have a right to know what it's all about."

"Papa?"

The voice came from the foyer, I turned and saw a little boy dressed in Spongebob Squarepants pajamas, clutching a stuffed T-Rex, his bright green eyes wide with curiosity. His hair was the same coppery shade as Maddy's. Rudy.