Sandy hung up, swearing. He walked around the zoo slowly, gazing blankly at the animals, feeling desperately sorry for himself. He had to find a way out of this, he thought. Every time he seemed to get his life in order, there was Martindale on the phone again.
He went back to his office. "Becky," he said to his secretary, "get me on a Thursday morning flight for San Francisco."
"Sure thing. A Cara Mason called; asked that you get back to her this afternoon."
He went to his desk and rang her number.
"Hi, Sandy," she said. "I'm afraid something's come up; do you think you could possibly wait until Monday for your sketches?"
"What's the problem?" he asked, trying to mask his disappointment.
"It's the Charleston job; I have to go to South Carolina tomorrow, and I won't get back until Sunday. I promise I'll have the sketches ready on Monday evening, though. Can we go over them at seven, then have dinner?"
At least she wanted to have dinner. "Sure," he said. "Monday evening at seven."
"Thank you so much for understanding," she said. "And I want to tell you again what a wonderful time I had over the weekend. I'll remember it always."
He felt a little better. "I'm glad. Have a good trip to Charleston, and I'll see you Monday evening."
"I'll look forward to it," she said.
Sandy hung up. Seven days until he could see her again. And he had something awful to do before then. If he could just get through the week, then maybe it would all be behind him when he saw her on Monday. He hadn't told her he was going to San Francisco; he didn't want anybody to know but his secretary. He'd have to arrange a meeting with Bernini or Larsen, something to legitimize the trip.
CHAPTER 24
Sandy sat in the Four Seasons Grill, across from his son, and sipped a good burgundy.
"So," Angus said, "there's a lady in your life."
"There is," Sandy said, "although she's just barely in."
"You haven't nailed her down, then?"
"Tell you the truth, she doesn't seem nail-downable, at least right away. She says she's got some sorting out to do in her own life before she's ready for any sort of commitment."
"You don't have a thing to worry about," Angus said. "How could she resist you? You're handsome, charming, and rich!"
"You're right, of course," Sandy replied.
Angus grinned. "I'm rich, too!" he crowed.
Sandy lifted his glass. "To being rich," he toasted.
"I'll drink to that," Angus said.
"How about you? Anything happening in the woman department?"
Angus blushed. "Funny you should ask. There's a girl in my class that I've seen a lot of lately."
"Why haven't I met her?" Sandy asked, wounded.
"When I say 'see a lot of,' I mean mostly studying. And when I say 'in my class,' I mean she's finishing at the same time. She's a surgical resident, actually."
Sandy started. "When do you finish?"
"On Friday."
Sandy had forgotten. "Good God! Is there some sort of graduation ceremony, or something? I've got to be in San Francisco on Friday."
"Relax, Dad, there's no ceremony to feel guilty about missing. We just finish work, pick up a certificate and we're out of there."
"Whew!" Sandy sighed.
"What takes you to San Francisco?"
"I'm buying a vineyard-at least, I hope I'm buying it. Negotiations are underway."
"That sounds exciting."
"It really is. It's something I've wanted ever since I got interested in wine. I've always though of wine as the perfect partnership between God and man-God provides the right soil and climate and weather; man supplies the agricultural and winemaking skills, and above all, the drinking. God is generous; he doesn't ask for any of the wine."
Angus laughed and looked at the liquid in his glass. "I don't think I'll ever drink wine again without thinking of that."
"To change the subject, have you done anything about that business idea of yours?"
"Not yet. I wonder if I'm going off half-cocked; the idea doesn't seem quite so great as it did at first."
"It sounded like a good idea to me; it ought to be more fun than just practicing cardiology."
"Maybe you're right; in any case I think I'll take a couple of weeks off, first."
Sandy had a good thought. He took out his checkbook, wrote a very large check and handed it to Angus.
"Jesus!" Angus said, shocked. "What's this for?"
"I want you to do something for me."
"What?"
"You were going to take your grandfather's and your mother's ashes to Scotland, weren't you?"
"Yes. I'd planned to go next week."
"I want you to keep going."
"Keep going where?"
"Anywhere you want to go. Take your girl with you; see Europe, see the world. I don't want you back in this city until September, at the very earliest."
Angus gazed at the ceiling. "You know, I did sort of have this fantasy about picking up a Porsche at the factory and touring a bit."
"Great idea! Do it!"
"Three months?"
"Make it four!"
"Four months?"
"Listen, Angus, I know you; you're like me. You'll start this new business, and you'll give it your life for years. This is the first time since you were twelve that you don't have to be anywhere on Monday-not at school, not at college, not at med school, not at the hospital. For the first time ever, you're your own man. Take some time, travel, enjoy yourself. It'll be a long time before you'll feel this free again."
Angus looked at him. "There's a Porsche dealership a few blocks from here, isn't there?"
"I believe there is."
"Dad, I don't know anything about money; can I afford a Porsche?"
"Yes, you can."
"Let's get out of here," Angus said.
The two walked up Park Avenue together.
"By the way," Sandy said, "when you get back I want you to go and see a man named Sam Warren at the Mayfair Trust."
"What's that?"
"It's a private bank, a very good one. As your trustee, I've had them invest your trust fund, and I want you to sit down with Sam and talk about your plans." He handed Angus the banker's card. "You should talk with him briefly before you leave, open a checking account, and make some arrangements for credit abroad."
"Good idea," Angus said. "Dad, what sort of income can I expect from my trust?"
"Sam can give you a better idea, but I should think something on the order of seven hundred thousand to a million a year."
"That much?"
"Believe me, it isn't as much as it sounds. You're going to get hit hard by taxes, you know. I suggest you sit down with Sam and work out some sort of budget, so much put into your checking account each month, enough to cover your basic expenses. Sam will give you good business advice, too." He laughed. "I don't know why I'm give you fatherly advice about money; you've always been as tight with a buck as anybody I've ever known. I think you get it from your grandfather."
"Maybe I do; seems to come naturally."
"By the way, I'd like to invest in your business idea; I think it will do very well, indeed."
"Maybe I can work you in," Angus said, grinning.
They reached the car dealership, and spent an hour choosing a car and placing an order for European delivery. Then Angus said he wanted to drive a car, and Sandy excused himself.
"One last thing," Sandy said to his son. "While you're gone I want to be the only person who knows how to get in touch with you-except for Sam Warren, of course."
"Why?" Angus asked.
"Never mind why. Send all the postcards you like, but don't give anybody else an itinerary but Sam and me. Give me your word."
"This seems very mysterious to me, Dad."
"Trust me."
"Okay, you have my word; nobody knows my whereabouts but you and Sam Warren. And Maggie, of course; the girl I told you about."
"Angus, Maggie is going to be with you."
"You really think she'll come?"
"If she won't accept an offer like that, then you've chosen the wrong girl; keep looking."