“Yes, I know.
I understand how you feel about it.
If you have to go, you must, and I’ll be right behind you on the next boat.
When do we go?”
“Jamieson tells me the next boat sails Wednesday.
Can you get ready by then?”
“I could be ready tomorrow if it were necessary,” replied Berenice.
“Darling!
You are always so willing, so helpful—I don’t know what my life would be without you . . .”
As he said this Berenice walked toward him and put her arms around him, whispering:
“I love you, Frank. So why shouldn’t I do everything I can to help you . . .”
Chapter 66
Once on the boat, Cowperwood felt alone, spiritually alone, at last admitting to himself that neither he nor any man knew anything about life or it’s Creator.
He now felt that for some reason he was facing a change which involved all this great and beautiful mystery as it related itself to him.
He had cabled Dr. James to meet him at the dock, and this immediately brought the following reply:
“Welcome to New York.
I will be there to meet you.
Yours, Monte Carlo Jeff.”
A message which provided Cowperwood with a laugh and a peaceful night.
Only, before he turned to rest, he took paper and ink and penned the following message to Berenice, who was traveling under the name of Kathryn Trent on the S. S. King Haakan:
“We are only a day apart but to me it is worse than a dozen years.
Good night, beautiful spirit, your mere vicinity comforts me and brings me rest.”
On Sunday morning Cowperwood awoke feeling less vigorous and less physically secure than he had the night before.
And by the time his valet had helped him dress, he felt greatly reduced in strength; in fact, he returned to bed to rest for the entire day.
At first, his entourage, which consisted of Jamieson; Mr. Hartley, Jamieson’s assistant; Frederickson, the valet, was not alarmed, as it was thought he was merely relaxing.
But toward late afternoon he asked Jamieson to call the ship’s physician, for he was feeling quite ill.
Dr. Camden, after an examination, decided that he was a very sick man, with a temperature of 105°, and advised that his personal physician be notified to meet the boat in the morning and have an ambulance there.
On hearing this news Jamieson took it upon himself to wire Aileen that her husband was very ill, that it was necessary to remove him from the boat in an ambulance, and what did she have to suggest in regard to further arrangements.
Whereupon Aileen answered at once, saying that owing to the fact that Mr. Cowperwood’s residence was being altered to house an additional art gallery, there was an undue amount of noise and confusion; she therefore thought it wiser for him to go to the Waldorf-Astoria, where arrangements could be made for his proper care, and where he would be decidedly more comfortable.
After Dr. Camden had eased his patient by a shot of morphine, Jamieson communicated the contents of Aileen’s message to Cowperwood.
“Yes, that would be much better,” he said weakly. “Make the arrangements.”
But this disruption of all his plans, and such thoughts as he was now able to indulge in, caused him to feel very weary.
His house!
His art gallery!
His planned hospital!
The idea of having to return to London and his underground affairs!
Suddenly he found himself desiring not to think of anything or anyone, other than Berenice.
And so he remained until morning, when the boat was nearing New York and in process of being docked, and the hustle and bustle and movement all about him caused him to awaken to the fact that they were arriving.
At this point, Dr. James, having chartered a pilot boat, boarded the S. S. Empress while it was still in the lower harbor, and after he had consulted Dr. Camden and Jamieson about such plans as had been made, walked into Cowperwood’s room.
“Now, Frank, this is Jeff,” he announced, “and I want to know exactly how you’re feeling.
This is something that will pass, I believe, as soon as I can administer the right sort of medicine.
But I want you not to worry about anything.
Just leave it to me, your old Monte Carlo pal.”
“I knew when you came, Jeff,” said Cowperwood, weakly, “everything would be all right,” and he squeezed the doctor’s hand affectionately.
“We’ve made arrangements to move you to the Waldorf in an ambulance,” continued James.
“You won’t mind that, will you?
It’s really better that way, much easier on you, you know.”
“No,” replied Cowperwood, “I have no objection.
But I wish you could arrange so that I wouldn’t be annoyed by the newspapermen, at least until I am settled at the hotel.
I’m not sure that Jamieson will know how to handle them.”