Джон Макдональд - The Tempestuous Career of Molly Murdock

“No other reasons?”

“With the money, I could hire somebody very good to look after my babies and still have lots left over after taxes, plus the capital-gains thing on the stock deal. I knew by then I was good, and there’s no rule against selling yourself high. And we did need the money then.”

“Was it supposed to be six months again?”

“Are you being cynical? It’s lasted a year and a half. After Max got well enough to arrange the sale of his ownership interest, I agreed to stay until it went through. As you well know, he died before he could make the deal he wanted, and one of Ross Hamilton’s corporations bought Max’s stock from his heirs. This is my swan song, Johnny. I’ll be out for good — and glad of it.”

“Real glad?”

“I have a family.”

“Is that an answer?”

“Are you trying to quarrel?”

“No, Molly. No quarrel. I’m concerned with my own survival. So I have to ask questions. You don’t have anything to lose. It makes everything so darn easy for you. Sure, we both believe in our idea, but maybe I’m going to be the guy who gets stuck with it if Hamilton goes for it.” He put his hand on her arm. “Consider this, Molly. Suppose he tells both of us to go ahead and carry the ball on this program? No strings. Will you still quit?”

“Of course!”

“Do you mean it?”

“It would be fun to work it out, but I’m not a career woman.”

“So you’d leave me in one hell of a mess, Molly. Without you, I’d be in a big bind, right between C. C. Hollis and Charlie Marks. After all, you brought me into this. Don’t you have some responsibility?”

“I think you’re dreaming, Johnny. If Ross Hamilton likes our ideas, he has his own people to go ahead with them.”

“But just suppose!”

She tilted her head and studied him. “I’m going to leave, Johnny. Charlie Marks knows it. Ross Hamilton knows it. And my husband knows it.”

“Is he jealous, your husband?”

She glared at him. “Don’t be an idiot! Tom’s work makes mine about as significant as — carving lip disks for Ubangi women.”

“Does he want you to quit?”

“Tom is used to having a part-time wife, but that doesn’t mean he likes the arrangement. The money has been nice, and I do have loads of energy. But with Max gone, Johnny, it’s all quite different. It isn’t as much fun any more. I’m not the little-girl genius any more, the way Max thought of me. I’m a veteran. I’ve had years of this pressure, and I don’t think I like what it has done to me. It’s toughened me in ways you wouldn’t understand. I’m thirty, Johnny. It’s time to go back to being what I was meant to be.”

“Is it? Or do you just have a feeling of obligation?”

“Now, really!”

“Molly, suppose you find you can’t keep yourself busy enough? Won’t you get bored and restless and irritable? What good will that do Tom and the kids?”

“Being a wife isn’t that easy.”

“So you’re a bad wife?”

“No! Darn you, stop twisting things.”

He leaned back and smiled at her. “I keep thinking of what a job we could do together if Hamilton should tell us to go ahead with it. We make a good team, Molly. You know that.”

“Of course I do.”

He chuckled. “I said that once too often to Cathy — how good a team you and I are.”

“What do you mean?”

“My little wife is apprehensive. She’ll be delighted when you retire from the business world.”

“What does she think I am!”

“Don’t get sore. She knows you’re a very lovely gal, but I guess her mother taught her never to trust a husband.”

“The disapproval of wives. That’s another thing I’ll be happy to give up,” she said bitterly.

“Everybody who’s worked with you knows you’ve played it straight.”

“So does Tom. And that’s all that matters to me, really.”

“But even the wise and wonderful Doctor Thomas Murdock will be a little easier in his mind when he has you all to himself.”

“What makes you say a thing like that?”

“Empathy, dear Molly. I imagined myself married to you. I checked out my reaction to your flying to Houston with Johnny Quinn. I decided I’d rather have you home.” He smiled at her, tilted his seat back, closed his eyes, and said, “Nudge me in Houston, boss lady.”

After he was asleep, she managed to cure her feeling of irritation with him by being mercilessly honest with herself. She realized she had become annoyed because he had come too close to some dangerous truths she had long been hiding from herself. She had begun to acquire the taste for maneuver, for the manipulation of human beings, and she recognized it as a taste for power. It was such a sweet and corrupt habit always to be given the choice tables, and sign the large tabs, and — because of Andro’s sponsorship of television programs — be on a first-name basis with celebrities.

The little girls were happy; they knew they were wanted. But it was not — face it squarely — as good a marriage as she made it sound. A remoteness had come into it, a kind of dry and careful courtesy.

She had phoned Tom in Vermont yesterday. The girls were fine. The days were bright and the nights chilly. The draft of the new book was going very well, and it looked as if he would meet the September deadline.

“You sound a million miles away,” she shouted into the phone.

“Vermont is a million miles away.”

“Darling, I have to go to Texas tomorrow morning.”

“You have to go where?”

“To Texas. Houston. I’ll be at the Allison Hotel.”

“The Allison Hotel. Houston.” She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was writing it down. “Ben and Ginny Hagerman live in Houston now.”

“I’d forgotten that, dear.”

“You don’t sound very pleased to be reminded. Won’t you look them up?”

“I’d like to, of course. There may not be time. I’ll be there just a day or two. Ross Hamilton sent for me.”

“Who?”

“Ross Hamilton. You know. The man who bought Andro. I told him about my idea for a new line. Charlie Marks wouldn’t listen. Now, all of a sudden, Hamilton wants me to make a presentation. I won’t be gone long.”

“That’s nice.”

“I should be able to quit in another few weeks and join you there.”

“That’s nice.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“What should I say?”

“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me.”

“What? I didn’t hear you, Molly. What did you say?”

“Never mind. Give my love to the gals.”

“Of course. Take care of yourself, Molly.”

“Good-by, dear.”

“Good-by, dear.”

Why should I expect wild enthusiasm from him? she thought. I’ve quit working too many times. After she hung up, she realized she hadn’t told him John Quinn was flying out with her. She had meant to tell him; it had not been a deliberate omission.

She sighed and tilted back her seat and looked at John. In his sleep, he had turned his face toward her. She looked at him with sympathy and fondness. Since he had been assigned to the Andro account as assistant to the account executive, they had worked on many projects together. He was very good, but perhaps not quite bold enough. Now, through her doing, he was in an awkward situation. She looked at the strong, masculine features, the harsh dark hair, the closed eyes, smudged with weariness. He slept with his lips slightly parted. She felt a bemused, welling tenderness, and quite suddenly she had the impulse to rest her hand on his tired cheek and press her mouth sweetly against his lips.

This, she realized, was dangerous nonsense. She wondered how such a degree of physical awareness could have been created so quickly. Their only proximity had been in their work. And suddenly she remembered Bill Pace and Jackie Thatcher and wondered if their relationship had started in just such a curious way.