Chapter 11
Bernard Kolsky was taking a day off. That meant he'd disappeared from his usual haunts in Washington and was not available except in extreme emergencies.
In case of something that wouldn't wait twenty-four hours, his secretary had a private number where he could be reached. But even the secretary did not know the Baltimore address to which it connected her.
She seldom called the number, but on this occasion, she thought it best.
When the phone rang in the secluded Baltimore apartment, Bernard Kolsky was startled. He was a big man with a Lincolnesque face that made people trust him. When he wrote on things of national and international importance, the people read and the people were impressed.
They always had a mental image from Kolsky's publicity pictures a man with a homely, sad, thoughtful face who usually wore dark, somber clothing.
So they would have been quite startled to see him as he was at the moment-clad in a Chinese robe that blazed in half a dozen gaudy colors.
They would have been doubly startled at sight of his companion, a blonde so stunning she might well have come straight off the cover of one of the national glamour magazines.
Kolsky let the phone ring three times before he got up off the bed and crossed over to it.
"Hello."
He listened, his expression indicating that he did not intend to be particularly cordial.
"Mr. Beck? I don't believe I know you."
The blonde, dazzlingly attractive in her semi-nudity, exercised a prerogative she obviously possessed and was sure of by getting up from the bed and sauntering to the phone. She put her beautiful head close to that of Bernard Kolsky and heard a male voice say:
"I'm moved mainly by a responsibility to my community."
The blonde raised questioning eyebrows and Kolsky covered the mouthpiece and growled, "Rebel Hill. It's something about Rafe. It's a man named Tad Beck."
"If you would state the situation more clearly, Mr. Beck."
"In plain terms, your son has been seduced by a married woman, the wife of one of our most successful Rebel Hill neighbors."
"Would you object to naming names?"
"Not at all. The woman's name is Hager-Mildred Hager. She is the wife of Vance Hager, an account executive with the advertising firm of Hall Parnell & Wayne in New York City."
"Has this situation exploded into a scandal?"
"No, but it could at any moment. That's why I'm calling you, Mr. Kolsky. I'm hoping a scandal can be averted. I thought you might exert parental influence on your son."
Bernard Kolsky was a dangerous man, but he was also a cautious one. He said, "You realize of course that you are putting yourself in great danger if the charges can't be proven, Mr. Beck."
"I'm well aware of that, sir," Tad Beck replied crisply. "I have my facts well substantiated."
Bernard Kolsky continued to scowl at the blonde. Tad Beck went on.
"Aside from the danger of scandal here at Rebel Hil, it seemed to me that there is your importance as a national figure to be considered."
"You're very kind," Bernard Kolsky replied with just the ghost of a sneer in his voice.
"What with gossip columnists and men who are no doubt your enemies, a scandal could also damage you."
"Again-thank you. You can be sure I'll move on the matter immediately."
With that, Kolsky practically hung up on his informant. He took the cigarette the blonde was offering him.
"What is it?" she asked. "Blackmail?"
"I don't think so. It's a nasty situation. Rafe's got himself mixed up with a married woman."
"I got that much. Who's this Tad Beck?"
"I don't know. He sounds like a local busybody."
"What's his motive for bringing you into it?"
"Sincere, I hope. He may be honestly worried about the impact of a scandal on Rebel Hill. They're a bunch of the most unregenerate snobs in the business up there. I've got to check into this immediately."
"What will you do?"
"Send for Rafe the first thing. It's time I got the boy out of there anyhow. He's vegetating up in that backwoods country. I haven't really taken the interest in him that I should have."
The blonde ran a light finger along Kolsky's aging chin. "Will that mean you'll have less time for me?"
"Let's not ask for trouble. Let's wait and see what happens."
Kolsky tapped the telephone with nervous fingers. "I'll pull the boy out of there the first thing."
"What do you suppose this Tad Beck person will do?"
"Nothing, I hope. I'm more interested in what the woman will do."
"What can she do?"
"That's hard to say. It depends on how far the thing's gone. Maybe I'd better take out a little insurance against her."
"How will you do that?"
"By giving her something more important to occupy her time."
"Such as-?"
"Explaining to her husband what she's been doing."
"You're going to confront him with it?"
"No, of course not. But Hall Parnell & Wayne have a very good reputation. I think someone in the agency might speak to him. They've got a reputation to protect, too."
"I wonder who his accounts are?"
"I intend to find out."
"It seems a rather small thing to interest the agency. I'm sure most of their executives are sleeping with their secretaries."
"Perhaps, but you can be sure they're being discreet about it. The thing about scandals, doll, is never let them start because nobody knows who'll get burned."
"Like forest fires."
He was seated on the edge of the bed and she pulled him down beside her.
"Why have you always been so sure I'd never cause you any trouble, darling?
"For two reasons. First, I know you."
"And second?"
"I'd probably kill you if you did. And I think you know that."
"I know it," the blonde said huskily. "And now do you have time to kiss me before you go out to rescue your son?"
Spencer Penrose was a benevolent giant; or at least he thought of himself as such. He was seventy-four years old and his earliest memory had to do with soap. He loved soap, thought soap, and sold soap. It was his prime preoccupation and out of it had come the Penrose Soap Company. Because giants built only giant structures, Penrose Soap towered in its field.
Spencer Penrose's secondary preoccupation was his family, and his classification of family extended as far as second cousins. He brought them in out of the rain and allowed them to prosper under the umbrella of his own financial security.
It gave him the privilege of also running their lives, an inconvenience most of them accepted cheerfully as a small price to pay for the return involved.
And it was to Spencer's office that Macklin Penrose was called that afternoon.
Spencer Macklin functioned from a luxurious office, but he still used the same desk from which Penrose Soap had been launched in 1902. So he cut a rather ludicrous figure as looked up at his nephew.
But Macklin didn't laugh. He sat down politely and said, "You wanted to see me, Uncle Spencer?"
"Yes-yes, Macklin. A point has been brought to my attention that I must pass on to you."
"Please do."
"I'm sure you are aware of the high regard in which I hold you. And of the responsibility I have placed in your hands."
Good lord, Macklin thought. It's one of those. He didn't like the copy in an ad. Or maybe the model's dress was too short.
"I carry that responsibility with me night and day."
"I'm sure you do. I'm sure you check and double-check the people around you, because you are as sensitive about our reputation as I am. But perhaps you didn't look quite far enough."
For heavens sake! Let's have it! Macklin would have loved to put those thoughts into words, but you waited upon Uncle Spencer's pleasure in situations like this. You let him have his fun.
"If I overlooked anything-"
"I think it is more a case of allowing yourself to be biased by personal friendship."
"You're referring to someone I hired?"
"In a sense. Someone you've backed very strongly. Our account executive-Vance Hager."
Macklin almost said that Vance was doing a fine job and always had. But he held his peace. And during the long moment his uncle eyed him with the benign good will of a fond uncle regarding a six-year-old, Macklin wondered if his prayer had been answered. Had Vance thrown a shoe?
"A very highly placed Washington person came directly to me," Spencer Penrose said. "He came with a very delicate matter."
"What was it?"
Spencer Penrose realized he'd squeezed the situation of all its juice so he became a shade more stern and said, "His wife has gotten herself involved in a very smelly liaison with the son of the person I mentioned. A sad situation."
And I was supposed to have foreseen that possibility? Macklin asked that question mentally even as he looked startled and wondered what deep end Mildred had gone off now.
"I'm horrified," he said, simply.
"I was shocked. The person who called me was Bernard Kolsky, the political commentator. His son's name is Rafe. He sets great store by the boy."
"I don't doubt it."
"You may feel that this matter is quite distant from us. It might seem to you that I'm overly cautious in referring it to you."
"Oh, no, Uncle Spencer. Not by a long shot. When I said I was horrified, I meant it."
"I'm glad we think alike."
"I'm sorry for Vance Hager," Macklin said with an inward gloat. "But there is ne room for sentiment in things of this sort."
After he left his uncle's office, Macklin Penrose spent a little tkne being sorry for Mildred. He'd considered himself her friend and would have helped her if he could have done so.
But then he faced himself squarely. Would he have sacrificed his vengeance on Vance Hager? He didn't think so.
The mental struggle sent him to a bar where he had three drinks. The issue had never been in doubt, however, and the three drinks were more of a celebration than anything else.
Also, they put him in the mood for what he'd visualized doing.
They gave him the courage.
When Nela Varese got home from work that afternoon, she found Macklin Penrose standing by her door. "Mack. What are you doing here?"
"Didn't we have a date?"
"Not that I recall."
His grin was out of character and she thought he acted a little odd.
"I was sure we did. My mistake. But as long as I'm here you might buy me a drink."
Nela glanced uneasily about. This was quite a proper building she lived in and she didn't want to be seen talking to a man in the corridor. Otherwise she would have objected.
"All right. Come in."
Macklin Penrose followed her inside and looked around with satisfaction.
"Nice place you have here."
"I like it." She studied Mack levelly. He didn't seem drunk. But there was something odd about him, a grim undertone to his lightness.
"Would you like Scotch?"
"Yes. But I'd rather have you."
He took Nela in his arms so quickly and unexpectedly that she was stunned. For a long moment, she did not resist. When she regained the use of her muscles his mouth was hard against hers.
Nela jerked her face away. "Mack! Have you gone out of your mind?"
"No. In fact, I've just come to my senses. Let's go into the bedroom."
Nela, thoroughly outraged, twisted away hard and drew back her hand to slap him. But he had far more strength than she and was ready to use his advantage. He seized her wrist and used that as a lever to bend her backward.
"Vance Hager doesn't get slapped, does he?" Nela's face was a mask of rage. "Mack! I'll-I'll kill you!" lie held her quite easily and sneered into her eyes. "Temper, temper," he laughed. "Vance would love your one-man loyalty. But Vance isn't around now. He's got troubles of his own."
Under normal circumstances, that would have brought a question from Nela. But it went past her as her eyes blazed at Macklin Penrose.
"What is this, Mack?" she demanded. "Rape?"
"Call this what you want to. But the handshake-at-the-door bit is over."
"I'll-fight-you!"
"Go ahead and fight. That'll make this more exciting."
He lifted her, carried her, struggling, into the bedroom. He threw her roughly onto the bed. She came to her knees and tried to crawl away, but he callously grabbed her ankles and pulled her back.
Face down, her position rendering her comparatively helpless, Nela clawed at the covers. Then she doubled her fists and pounded the bed savagely in frustration.
"I'll have you arrested. I'll bring criminal charges against you."
"Go ahead, baby. I'll call Vance Hager as a witness-a character witness that is. I'll have my attorney ask him whether you rape hard or easy."
He wasn't playing for laughs any more. That stage was over. His tone was stinging and contemptuous now and he gave the impression this was more an act of vengeance than of pleasure. His injured ego was more in command than uncontrollable desire.
Nela twisted over onto her back and saw his face and was suddenly frightened. His was the face of a man who, for one reason or another, was not going to be denied.
She kicked out at him, but more with reflex movement than viciousness.
"Stop that," he grated. "Or I'll tie you up."
Nela's rage died. It was all right to be indignant, but it was foolish to get hurt. And Mack was in a mood to hurt if he had to.
She went limp.
"That's better."
He let go of the ankle he was holding and stood poised, alert. Their eyes met, and Nela knew that resistance would bring a renewed attack.
"All right. Get this over with."
Nela's submission was frigid, contemptuous, but Mack Penrose did not seem to mind. His treatment of her was equally contemptuous, but determined and competent.
For a few moments, near the finish, Nela responded with what could have been emotional acceptance. But the time of this was brief and she consciously held herself against that.
When that was over, she lay watching him. "I hope you had fun."
He did not answer and she could see that none of his anger or bitterness had been burned out of him. If anything he was more grim, more hostile.
When he was ready to leave, he turned and looked at her.
"Why don't you cover yourself up?"
"I would, if you created anything for me but disgust."
"You're making your point well. But I think I made mine, too. You can have Vance Hager now. You deserve each other. I hope you'll both be very happy."
Nela frowned. "You said something when you came in."
"What?"
"I don't quite recall. Something about Vance having his own troubles."
He looked at her coldly and did not reply. She heard the door close but she did not move. She lay as she was, staring at the ceiling. What strange creatures men were.
She smiled lazily. It was good to be a woman. It was good to have men want you, to see their need of you in their eyes.
Perhaps that was why she'd never gotten married; because the need of one man would never haw been enough.