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Rudolph fiddled with the air-conditioning levers, frowning. “Well, it’s a little hard to begin.”
“Come on. I’m a big, strong fella.”
“Schultz didn’t know where either of them was. But he said he saw your wife’s picture in the newspapers. Twice.”
“What the hell for?” For a moment, Thomas was rattled. Maybe the crazy dame had finally made it on the stage or in a nightclub.
“She was arrested for soliciting in a bar. Twice,” Rudolph said. “I hate to be the one who has to tell you this, Tom.”
“Forget it,” Thomas said roughly. “It figured.”
“Schultz said she was using another name, but he recognized her,” Rudolph said. “I checked. It was her. The police gave me her address.”
“If I can afford her prices,” Thomas said, “maybe I’ll go around and give her a screw. Maybe she’s learned how to do it by now.” He saw the pained expression on Rudolph’s face, but he hadn’t crossed the ocean to be polite. “How about the kid?”
“He’s up at a military school near Poughkeepsie,” Rudolph said. “I just found out two days ago.”
“Military school,” Thomas said. “Christ. Do the officers get to bang his mother on maneuvers?”
Rudolph drove without speaking, allowing Thomas to get his bitterness out.
“That’s just what I want my kid to be,” Thomas said. “A soldier. How did you get all this good news?”
“A private detective.”
“Did he talk to the bitch?”
“No.”
“So nobody knows I’m here?”
“Nobody,” Rudolph said. “Except me. I did one other thing. I hope you won’t mind.”
“What’s that?”
“I talked to a lawyer friend of mine. Without mentioning any names. You can get a divorce and custody without any trouble. Because of the two convictions.”
“I hope they put her in jail and throw away the key.”
“Just overnight each time. And a fine.”
“They got some great lawyers in this city, don’t they?” He remembered his days in the jail in Elysium. Two out of three in the family.
“Look,” Rudolph said, “I have to get back to Whitby tonight. You can come with me if you want. Or you can stay in the apartment. It’s empty. There’s a maid comes in every morning to clean up.”
“Thanks. I’ll take you up on the apartment. I want to see that lawyer you talked to first thing in the morning. Can you fix it?”
“Yes.”
“You got her address and the name of the school and all that?”
Rudolph nodded.
“That’s all I need,” Thomas said.
“How long do you plan to stay in New York?”
“Just long enough to make sure of the divorce and go up and get the kid and take him back to Antibes with me.”
Rudolph didn’t say anything for awhile and Thomas looked out the window to his right at the boats moored in Flushing Bay. He was glad the Clothilde was in Antibes harbor and not in Flushing Bay.
“Joh
“I don’t know when she had the time to love anything,” Thomas said. “She was going up and down the ladder changing her clothes every five minutes. She must have had thirty bags with her. It was lucky there were only two of them. We filled two empty cabins with her luggage.”
Rudolph smiled. “She comes from a very rich family.”
“It sticks out all over her. He’s okay, though. Your friend. Didn’t mind rough weather and asked so many questions by the end of the two weeks he could have sailed the Clothilde by himself right to Tunis. He said he was going to ask you and your wife to come with him on a cruise next summer.”
“If I have the time,” Rudolph said quickly.
“What’s this about your ru
“It’s far from a one-horse town,” Rudolph said. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”
“I wouldn’t wipe my feet on the best politician in the country,” Thomas said.
“Maybe I’ll make you change your mind,” Rudolph said.
“They had one good man,” Thomas said, “so naturally they shot him.”
“They can’t shoot all of them.”
“They can try,” Thomas said. He leaned over and turned on the radio. The roar of a crowd filled the car and then an excited a
“The World Series,” Rudolph said.
“I know. I get the Paris Herald Tribune.”
“Tom,” Rudolph said, “don’t you ever miss America?”
“What’s America done for me?” Thomas said. “I don’t care if I never see it again after this time.”
“I hate to hear you talk like that.”
“One patriot in the family is enough,” Thomas said.
“What about your son?”
“What about him?”
“How long are you figuring you’ll keep him in Europe?”
“Forever,” Thomas said. “Maybe when you get elected President and straighten out the whole country and put all the crooks and generals and policemen and judges and congressmen and high-priced lawyers in jail and if they don’t shoot you maybe I’ll send him over on a visit.”
“What about his education?” Rudolph persisted.
“There’re schools in Antibes. Better than a crappy military academy.”
“But he’s an American.”
“Why?” Thomas asked.
“Well, he’s not a Frenchman.”
“He won’t be a Frenchman either,” Thomas said. “He’ll be Wesley Jordache.”
“He won’t know where he belongs.”
“Where do you think I belong? Here?” Thomas laughed. “My son’ll belong on a boat in the Mediterranean, sailing from one country where they make wine and olive oil to another country where they make wine and olive oil.”
Rudolph quit then. They drove the rest of the way in silence to the building on Park Avenue where Rudolph had an apartment. The doorman double-parked the car for him when he said he’d only be a few minutes. The doorman gave a queer look at Thomas, with his collar open and his tie loose and his blue, wide-trousered suit and green fedora hat with the brown band that he had bought in Genoa.
“Your doorman doesn’t approve of my clothes,” Thomas said as they went up in the elevator. “Tell him I buy my clothes in Marseilles and everybody knows Marseilles is the greatest center of haute couture for men in Europe.”
“Don’t worry about the doorman,” Rudolph said as he led Thomas into the apartment.
“Not a bad little place you have here,” Thomas said, standing in the middle of the large living room, with its fireplace and long, straw-colored corduroy couch, with two winged easy chairs on each side of it. There were fresh flowers in vases on the tables, a pale-beige wall-to-wall carpet, and bright, non-objective paintings on the dark-green walls. The room faced west and the afternoon sun streamed in through the curtained windows. The air-conditioning was on, humming softly, and the room was comfortably cool.
“We don’t get down to the city as much as we’d like,” Rudolph said. “Jean’s pregnant again and she’s having a bad couple of months just now.” He opened a cupboard. “Here’s the bar,” he said. “There’s ice in the refrigerator. If you want to eat here, just tell the maid when she gets in in the morning. She’s a pretty good cook.” He led Thomas into the spare room, which Jean had made over to look exactly like the guest room in the farmhouse in Whitby, countrified and delicate. Rudolph couldn’t help but notice how out of place his brother looked in the neat, feminine room, with its four-poster twin beds and patchwork quilts.
Thomas threw his battered valise and his jacket and hat on one of the beds and Rudolph tried not to wince. On his boat, Joh
Back in the living room Rudolph poured a whiskey and soda for Thomas and himself and while they drank, got out the papers he had collected from the Police Department and the report from the private detective and gave them to Thomas. He called the lawyer’s office and made an appointment for Thomas for the next morning at ten.