Nightwork

High above, in the brilliant blue sky, a large bird soared on motionless wings. It might well have been an eagle. I speculated on what prey it might find to live off in this glossy valley.

'Have a good morning?' I asked Fabian as he kissed the girls and ordered a Bloody Mary for himself.

'Only time will tell,' he said. He enjoyed his little mysteries, Fabian.

I tried not to look worried.

'I hope you don't mind, Douglas,' he said. I've made an appointment in town for us after lunch.' 'If the ladies will excuse me,' I said.

'I'm sure they'll find some other young man to ski with,' Fabian said. 'I'm sure,' I said.

"There's a big party tonight,' Lily said. 'We have to go to the hairdresser, anyway....' 'Am I invited?' I asked.

'Of course,' she said. 'I've let it be known that we're inseparable.'

Thoughtful of you,' I said.

She looked at me sharply. 'I'm afraid old Gentle Heart is not having as good a time as he should.' Now she was calling me Gentle Heart, too. 'Perhaps he prefers the company of younger ladies.' She hadn't said anything, but my trip up on the chair lift with Didi Wales hadn't gone unnoticed.

'She's the young daughter of old friends of mine from back home,' I said with dignity.

'Ripe for havoc,' Lily said. 'Let's go in and have lunch. It's cold out here.'

* * *

The appointment Fabian had arranged was with a real-estate dealer with a small office on the main street of the town. Before we went in he explained that he had been looking that morning at plots of land that were for sale. 'It might be an interesting investment for us,' he said. 'As you may have caught on by now, my philosophy is simple. We live in a world in which certain primary elements are becoming scarcer and scarcer. Soybeans, gold, sugar, wheat, oil, etcetera. The economy of the planet is suffering from overpopulation, fright, wars, a bad conscience, and an overabundance of available cash. Put these things together and the moderately sensible, ordinarily pessimistic man knows that the scarcity can only get worse and buys accordingly. Switzerland is a tiny country with a stable government and practically no possibility of getting involved in military adventures. Soon they will be selling land here to frightened money almost by the ounce. Among my own friends and acquaintances I know dozens who would love to own even the smallest bit of it. At the moment, because of Swiss law, they are not permitted to buy. But we have a Swiss company, or a Liechtenstein one, which amounts to the same thing, and there is nothing to stop us from buying an option for six months, say, on a nice chunk of this beautiful country and letting it be known that we are considering building a luxurious nice-sized chalet with a number of fine apartments and renting them in advance for twenty-year leases, say. With the loan that we can swing from a bank, we can be the owners of a highly profitable piece of real estate which will cost us nothing finally and where we might even have a little pied-a-terre at no expense to ourselves for our own holidays. Does all this make sense to you?'

'As usual,' I said. Actually, it made more sense than usual. I had seen how dizzily prices had risen for small sections of abandoned farmland in Vermont, when ski lifts were put in.

'Dear partner,' Fabian said, smiling. 'Old Gentle Heart.'

By the end of the afternoon we had made an offer for a six-month option on a hilly stretch of ground off the road, about five miles from Gstaad. It would take some time, the agent told us, to arrange the formalities and draw up the contract, but he was sure there would be no important obstacles in our way.

I had never owned anything except the clothes I stood in, but by the time we went back to the hotel for tea I was practically assured, or so Fabian said, of being half-owner of a building that within a year would be worth well over a half-million dollars. The knuckles of my hands showed white with tension as I drove the Jaguar through the town that I now looked at with a new proprietary interest. Fabian merely looked quietly pleased with the day's work. 'We are just beginning, Gentle Heart,' was all he said, as I parked the car in the lot in front of the hotel.

* * *

I was getting dressed for the party when the telephone rang. It was Fabian. 'Something's come up,' he said. 'I can't go with you. Do you mind taking the girls?' What is it?'

'I met Bill Sloane in the lobby just now.'

Oh. That's all I need.' I felt a prickling at the back of my neck. Bill Sloane had not contributed to my finest hours in Europe.

'Someday you must tell me just what went on between you two.'

'Someday,' I said.

'He's alone. He sent his wife back to America.'

"That's the smartest thing he's done all year. Still,' I said, 'what's be got to do with your not coming with us?'

'He wants to play cards this evening. Starting just about now.'

'I thought you said you were off bridge for life?' Now that Fabian had introduced me to the science of high finance, bridge playing seemed unnecessarily risky. A deck of cards was not like gold ingots or soybean futures or an acre of land in Switzerland.

'He doesn't want to play bridge,' Fabian said. 'He's got the message about bridge, he says.'

'What does he want to play?'

'Head-to-head poker,' Fabian said. In his room.'

'Oh, Christ, Miles! Can't you tell him you're busy?'

'I've taken so much loot from him,' Fabian said, I feel I owe him an evening. And I also owe something to my reputation as a gentleman.'

'Not to me, you don't.'

'Have confidence in me. Gentle Heart,' Fabian said.

'What sort of poker player are you?'

'Don't sound so worried. I can take care of myself. Especially with Mr Sloane.'

'Famous last words,' I said. 'Anybody can get lucky for one night.'

'If you're so worried, you can come and watch.'

'My nerves aren't that good,' I said. 'And I doubt that Mr Sloane would be charmed by my presence.'

'Anyway, explain to the girls, will you?'

'I'll explain,' I said, without grace.

'There's a dear fellow. Really, Douglas, if you're so skeptical, I’ll do it on my own. I'll stake myself.'

I hesitated, tempted, then felt ashamed. 'Forget it,' I said. 'I'm in for half, win or lose.'

'Smashing,' he said.

'Yeah,' I said. As I hung up I knew the party would have to be one of the greatest social events of the year if I was going to enjoy the evening.

18

There were fifty guests at the party, with tables set for groups of six and eight in the enormous living room of the chalet, which was furnished in a cottagy and comfortable style, despite its great size. For dinner, there were fresh lobsters flown in that afternoon from Denmark. Two Renoirs and a Matisse, not particularly cottagy, hung on the walls. The lighting was low, to flatter the ladies, but not dim enough to make you feel that you were addressing a shadow when you spoke to your dinner partner. The ladies needed no flattering. They all looked as though at one time or another they had been photographed by my cameraman friend from Women's Wear Daily. The acoustics of the room must have been expertly planned, since, even when everybody seemed to be talking at once, the total sound in the room never rose above a polite and pleasant hum.

The host, a tall gray-haired, hawkish-looking man, I was told, was a retired banker from Atlanta. A soft, agreeable Southern cadence mellowed his speech, and both he and his young wife, a dazzling Swedish lady. seemed genuinely pleased that I had been able to come to their party. It turned out they were celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary. If Didi Wales had been invited, she might have revised her ideas about marriage.