But I’m wondering what suggestions you might have to make, Bevy.”
“I agree with you, Frank,” she said.
“I think you should return to New York as soon as possible, and see what you can do to placate her.
After you talk to her, she’s very likely to realize how futile an explosion of this kind would be.
For, of course, she has known of me before this, and others also,” and here she smiled an ironic smile.
“And you certainly are the one to tell her that.
After all, you haven’t done her any harm in this instance.
Nor has Tollifer, for that matter.
In fact, you’ve provided her with the best guide to the pleasures of Paris that anybody would want, and, incidentally, you might also make clear to her that your work over here has taken every moment of your time.
After all, it seems to me that could hardly fail to have some ameliorating effect.
The papers are full of your labors and achievements, as you could point out to her”—a burst of wisdom which was by no means lost on Cowperwood.
His one grief, as he now declared, was that it was he, not Stane, who had to go.
“Never mind, dear,” she said, consolingly, “you’re too great a man to be broken by this.
I know positively you will return triumphant, as usual.
And you know I will be with you all the way,” and she put her arms around him and smiled up into his face with deep affection.
“If that is so, then I know everything will be all right,” he said, confidently.
Chapter 54
Before sailing for New York, Cowperwood talked with Tollifer, who demonstrated to him his personal innocence in connection with this development; also that as far as he was concerned, his lips were sealed and would open only to say whatever Cowperwood desired him to say.
Five days later, landing in New York, Cowperwood was met by a brigade of newspapermen with enough inquiries to fill a small catalogue.
Was he after more money to buy more London subways, or was it for the purpose of disposing of his remaining American street railway holdings?
What paintings had he purchased in London?
Was there anything to the story that he had just paid $78,000 for Turner’s “Rockets and Blue Lights”?
And, in connection with paintings, had he agreed to pay a certain artist $20,000 for his portrait, and on its completion sent the artist $30,000 instead?
And also, by now, what did he think of English business methods?
All of this caused him to realize that while there was more interest in him as a public figure than had ever previously been manifested, as yet there was no trace of scandal in connection with him.
Accordingly, he was more inclined to answer the questions, at least as many as it was diplomatically possible for him to answer without injury to himself.
According to him, everything was progressing smoothly in London.
In fact, he was justifiably proud, since he expected to have the London Underground electrified and in operation by January of 1905.
Also, it would have an $85,000,000 capital and one hundred and forty miles of track.
And it was also true that he was now building the largest electrical power plant in the world, and when it was completed London would have the finest underground in the world.
As to the English, he now asserted that he considered their attitude toward large business projects, such as his, superior to the American attitude; that is, the English appeared to understand the importance of a great constructive program, and when they granted a franchise, it was not for a limited time, but granted in perpetuity, which gave men with large creative purposes an opportunity to build things lasting.
As to paintings, yes, he had purchased several since being in New York last, and those he was bringing back with him, a Watteau, a Sir Joshua Reynolds (portrait of Lady O’Brien), and a Frans Hals.
And yes, he had paid the artist in question $30,000 for his portrait when he needed to give him $20,000 only.
But the artist had returned the $10,000 to him with the request that he contribute the sum to a charity—which caused a gasp of surprise from the reporters.
The significance of such data as this, blazoned as it was in all of the newspapers, did not fail to impress Aileen, who, under another name, had arrived only two days before.
Notwithstanding her anger, she was moved to meditate on the wisdom of her original plan.
What was to become of these paintings that he was purchasing?
For she recalled that recently he had spoken of the possibility of enlarging the New York Mansion with a view to housing additional art objects.
If so, her exposure of him and a threatened divorce suit might force him to change his plans in favor of one other than herself: the same dilemma which some years before she had faced and lost.
But, accepting her threat at its face value, Cowperwood thought it best, during his stay in New York, to make his headquarters at the Waldorf-Astoria instead of the Fifth Avenue residence, and having once settled there, he took up the matter of trying to reach Aileen by telephone, with no success. For she had made up her mind not to allow him to come and discuss his, to her, seemingly inexcusable crime, and she had even gone so far as to request a New York lawyer to call on her.
Yet reading the papers, which continued to report his doings, evoked in her, from hour to hour, a change of emotions.
For, naturally, she was proud of his success, and yet she was jealous, because she was satisfied that somewhere, lurking in the background, was one of his mistresses—Berenice, no doubt—who was undoubtedly sharing this most iridescent period of his life.
For Aileen loved show and glitter.
At times she was almost childishly arrested by any startling phase of publicity concerning Cowperwood, good, bad, or indifferent.
In fact, one newspaper picture of the immense electrical plant he was building in London so fascinated her as to make her almost forget her ills.
On the other hand, when he was savagely attacked in one newspaper article, she could not help resenting it, at the same time that she was moved to attack him herself.
After contemplating the immense variety of opinions and applause which greeted his return, Aileen’s rage became confused with a certain degree of admiration, at which point in her oscillating moods it was that Cowperwood calmly walked into the living room of her suite to find her lying on a chaise longue, the floor about her littered with newspapers which she had obviously been reading.
She jumped to her feet on his entrance, trying to arouse in herself her treasured anger as he stood facing her.
“Well, I see you keep up with the news, don’t you, dear?” he commented, smiling a broad, free smile.
“It isn’t bad, is it?”