‘That’s what they will be, returned as soon as possible.’
‘No,’ said Jordan. I really mean like tomorrow, whatever it costs. Couriered direct from wherever they’re being analysed. Can you arrange that?’
‘Chlamydia is not a difficult disease to treat and cure. There’s no cause to panic.’
The exasperated burn came again. Jordan said, ‘Tomorrow, OK? Whatever it costs.’
‘Tomorrow,’ agreed the doctor. ‘If you’re positive we’ll arrange more appointments, get it cleared up. If you do need treatment you’ll either have to use a condom or abstain during any treatment.’
‘At this precise moment I feel like staying celibate for the rest of my life!’ said Jordan.
‘Friday,’ Beckwith told Jordan, on the telephone.
‘What’s he want to talk about?’
‘A combined strategy, as I thought. We didn’t go into detail on the phone.’
‘Did you talk to him about my being with you?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not. We don’t know yet whether we’re going to sue Alyce. If we do then Friday’s meeting between Bob and me will obviously be cancelled.’
‘Abrahams has promised to have his results by tomorrow. They’re going to be couriered direct to you.’
‘What did Abrahams say?’
‘That if I’ve contracted anything he’ll treat it. That chlamydia responds well to treatment. Did you talk to Reid about it?’
‘I told you we didn’t go into the details of anything on the telephone. He did say Alyce is sorry you’ve got dragged into this.’
‘Not as sorry as I am!’
‘If Abrahams keeps his promised schedule, we’ll know by tomorrow if we are going to sue her,’ Beckwith pointed out.
‘I’ve already worked that out. If the results are OK I could come down to Raleigh with you.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘What’s to see? If I’m with you we can decide on the spot whether it’s going to be a joint strategy or not. Get things moving.’
‘Harv! Let’s see what tomorrow’s report says. We’re not in a race here.’
‘I am! I’m in a hurry – in a race – to get this whole bloody nonsense over and done with. And if you can’t help me I’ll find someone who can!’ As well as being in a hurry to start the retribution I intend, Jordan thought. There wasn’t any time limit on his returning to England. The only essential consideration was continuing the rental of Hans Crescent and there was still weeks to go before he needed to do that.
‘I’ll call you the moment I hear from Abrahams,’ promised the lawyer. Stiffly he added, ‘You get any thoughts about changing your legal representation in the meantime, I’ll do all I can to find you the best lawyer with North Carolina Bar exam qualifications to take your case over. It’ll probably mean your going down to Raleigh for consultation, of course.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Jordan, refusing to be bullied.
Frustration remained Jordan’s most persistent feeling. That and having his penis and his bodily fluids so persistently and literally under a microscope, like a rare specimen of humanity displayed on a slab. Should he call Beckwith’s bluff and change lawyers? He was strongly tempted; after the first few minutes from putting down the telephone on the lawyer he’d reached out to call Beckwith back to tell him he did want to change. He had literally held back, his hand hovering over the receiver, fighting the anger which he now realized, belatedly and with a fresh blip of frustration, was what Beckwith was constantly urging him to do. He really didn’t want to change. Despite Beckwith’s Wild West affectation – strangely incongruous for a man born and raised on the eastern seaboard state – and the irritating Christian name abbreviation, Jordan liked the man. And believed he was a good lawyer, despite there being no criteria upon which to judge. He had to be, surely, swimming among the legal sharks of Manhattan in preference to the calmer waters of North Carolina? He’d let it go this time, Jordan decided, and at once contradicted himself. He’d let it ride, see how things developed. If he were subsequently dissatisfied, Beckwith’s offer to withdraw remained on the table between them.
Jordan’s telephone rang just before ten the following morning. Beckwith said, ‘You haven’t got a problem. There’s not a trace of any venereal infection. And I’ve spoken to Bob. He’s happy for you to come along. Suzie’s already bought the tickets.’
The furnished service apartment Jordan had isolated on West 72nd on his second day in Manhattan was still available and by just after 1 p.m. Jordan had secured a three-month lease in the name of Alfred Jerome Appleton with a full cash deposit covering both rental and charges. He also paid cash for a telephone connection, with an unlisted number. He gave the name and address of the First National Bank on Wall Street for a reference. He was at that bank, the first of those he had chosen, an hour later. He opened the account in Appleton’s name with an initial cash deposit of $3,500 and Appleton’s genuine Social Security number so conveniently available from the exchanged court documents. The bank official made a particular note that Jordan would predominantly use electronic banking, although he did need bank, credit card and chequebook facilities and gave Appleton’s mother’s maiden name for the security reference. Jordan authorized all charges to be directly debited from his account and warned the man to expect a realtor’s bank reference request for West 72nd Street. The bank official hoped they’d have a mutually satisfacatory relationship and Jordan said he was sure they would.
Thirteen
Jordan wasn’t at all surprised that Daniel Beckwith’s vehicle was a personalized number-plated 4?4 with extra-wide wheels and special trim, along with dark-tinted windows. And coloured red. When he got inside Jordan saw it was equipped with satellite navigation, which didn’t surprise him either. He hadn’t expected to be able to see so clearly beyond the smoked glass, though.
‘You all set?’ greeted Beckwith. Today’s outfit was faded denim workshirt and jeans, with tooled cowboy boots and the regulation big buckle belt. The bison motif reminded Jordan of the shoulder-hunched photograph of Alfred Appleton.
‘You’re in charge: you tell me.’ And then I’ll tell you, Jordan thought, a decision already formulating.
Beckwith snatched a glance across the car as he began the manoeuvre to get to the Triboro bridge and the Van Wyke expressway for the airport. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m where I don’t want to be, facing – by your calculations – a potential financial judgement against me of millions, is what’s the matter.’
‘You got your head up your own ass, Harv,’ declared Beckwith, taking the macho car up the ramp towards the bridge, the traffic easier going out of Manhattan than it appeared to be getting in from the unmoving, traffic-congealed contra flow. ‘That cost estimate was before we got yesterday’s squeaky clean medical report. Which turned your problems a hundred and eight degrees in your favour: you’re now back on the sunny side of the street. Sit back, smile and enjoy the warmth.’
‘No!’ refused Jordan. ‘There are things we need to get straight between us, Daniel! And listen. I use your full, complete Christian name, don’t try to abbreviate it. You want to play out some macho fantasy with the way you dress and the car you drive, that’s fine. That’s your fantasy: get your rocks off. But I don’t like being called Harv, when my name is Harvey. And I don’t like having appointments made for me before I even know they’re being made, what those appointments are for or why, even, they’re necessary. I’ve wiped my own ass since I was about five, without any help from anyone, and hope I can go on doing it without leaving stains on my underwear for a long time in the future. As I intend doing a lot more – everything – for myself in the future.’
Beckwith snatched another glance as they turned into the La Guardia slip road. ‘Sounds to me like you’ve made your decision about your legal representation. So why you bothering to come down to Raleigh with me today?’