Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘Logan Fitzgerald,’ he said, his hand outstretched. ‘I heard you address the freshman debate at Yale. Your speech on Vietnam was brilliant, although I didn’t agree with a word you said.’

‘You were at Yale?’

‘No, I was visiting my brother. I went to Princeton, and I guess we both know why we’re here.’

‘How many others are there, do you imagine?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Looking at the clock, I would suggest we’re the last two. So all I can say is good luck.’

‘I am sure you mean that sincerely,’ said Fletcher with a grin.

The door opened and a woman who Fletcher remembered as Mr Alexander’s secretary addressed them. ‘Gentlemen, if you’ll come this way,’ she said.

‘Thank you, Mrs Townsend,’ said Fletcher, whose father had once told him never to forget a secretary’s name — after all, they spend more time with the boss than his wife ever does. The two candidates followed her out of the room, and Fletcher wondered if Logan could possibly be as nervous as he was. On either side of the long carpeted corridor the names of the partners were lettered in gold beside each oak-panelled door they passed. William Alexander’s was the last before the conference room.

Mrs Townsend knocked gently on the door, opened it and stood to one side as twenty-five men and three women rose from their places and began to applaud.

‘Please be seated,’ said Bill Alexander, once the applause had died down. ‘May I be the first to congratulate you both on being offered the opportunity to join Alexander Dupont and Bell, but be warned, the next time you’ll hear such approbation from your colleagues will be when you’re invited to become a partner, and that won’t be for at least seven years. During the morning you will have meetings with different members of the executive committee who between them should be able to answer any of your questions. Fletcher, you have been assigned to Matthew Cunliffe, who heads up our criminal office, while you, Logan, will report directly to Graham Simpson in mergers and acquisitions. At twelve thirty, you will both return and join the partners for lunch.’

The midday meal turned out to be a friendly affair after the gruelling process of interviews; the partners stopped behaving like Mr Hyde and reverted to being Dr Jekyll. Roles they played every day with clients and adversaries.

‘They tell me that you are both going to be top of your respective classes,’ said Bill Alexander, after the main course was served — there had been no first course or drink supplied, other than bottled water. ‘And I can only hope so, because I haven’t yet decided which offices to assign you to.’

‘And should one of us flunk?’ asked Fletcher nervously.

‘Then you will spend your first year in the mail room, delivering briefs to other law firms.’ Mr Alexander paused. ‘On foot.’ No one laughed, and Fletcher couldn’t be sure if he meant it. The senior partner was about to continue when there was a knock on the door and his secretary reappeared.

‘There’s a call for you on fine three, Mr Alexander.’

‘I said no interruptions, Mrs Townsend.’

‘It’s an emergency, sir.’

Bill Alexander picked up the boardroom phone, the scowl on his face turned to a smile as he listened intently. ‘I’ll let him know,’ he said and put the phone down.

‘Let me be the first to congratulate you, Fletcher,’ said the senior partner. Fletcher was puzzled because he knew final grades wouldn’t be published for at least another week. ‘You’re the proud father of a little girl. Mother and daughter are doing just fine. I knew the moment I met that girl she was just the kind of woman we appreciate at Alexander Dupont and Bell.’

‘Lucy.’

‘But what about Ruth or Martha?’

‘We can give her all three names,’ said Fletcher, ‘which will make both our mothers happy, but we’ll call her Lucy.’ He smiled as he gently placed his daughter back in her crib.

‘And have you thought about where we’re going to live?’ asked Annie. ‘I don’t want Lucy brought up in New York.’

‘I agree,’ said Fletcher, as he tickled his daughter under the chin, ‘I’ve been talking to Matt Cunliffe and he told me he faced the same problem when he joined the firm.’

‘So what does Matt recommend?’

‘He suggested three or four small towns in New Jersey that are less than an hour away by train from Grand Central Station. So I thought we might drive up there next Friday and spend a long weekend seeing if there’s any particular area we like.’

‘I suppose we’ll have to rent a place to begin with,’ said Annie, ‘until we’ve saved enough to buy something of our own.’

‘It seems not, because the firm would prefer us to purchase our own property.’

‘It’s all very well for the firm to prefer something, but what if we simply can’t afford it?’

‘That doesn’t seem to pose a problem either,’ said Fletcher, ‘because Alexander Dupont and Bell will cover the cost with an interest-free loan.’

‘That’s very generous of them,’ said Annie, ‘but if I know Bill Alexander, there has to be an ulterior motive.’

‘There sure is,’ said Fletcher. ‘It ties you into the firm, and Alexander Dupont and Bell are very proud of having the smallest turnover of employees of any legal practice in New York. It’s becoming obvious to me that once they’ve gone to all the trouble of selecting you and training you in their ways, they then make damn sure they don’t lose you to a rival firm.’

‘Sounds to me like a shotgun marriage,’ said Annie. She paused. ‘Have you ever mentioned your political ambitions to Mr Alexander?’

‘No, I wouldn’t have passed first base if I had, and in any case, who knows how I’ll feel in two or three years’ time?’

‘I know exactly how you’ll feel,’ said Annie, ‘in two years, ten years, twenty years. You’re happiest when you’re running for something, and I’ll never forget when Dad was re-elected to the Senate, you were the only person who was more excited about the result than he was.’

‘Don’t ever let Matt Cunliffe hear you say that,’ said Fletcher with a smile, ‘because you can be sure Bill Alexander would know about it ten minutes later, and the firm are just not interested in anyone who isn’t fully committed. Remember their motto, there are twenty-five hilling hours in every day.’

When Su Ling woke, she could hear Nat on the phone in the next room. She wondered who he could possibly be talking to so early in the morning. She heard the phone click, and a moment later her husband returned to the bedroom.

‘I want you up and packed, little flower, because we have to be out of here in under an hour.’

‘What...?’

‘In under an hour.’

Su Ling jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. ‘Captain Cartwright, am I allowed to know where you are taking me?’ she called above the sound of running water.

‘All will be revealed once we’re on the plane, Mrs Cartwright.’

‘Which direction?’ she asked the moment the taps had been turned off.

‘I’ll tell you when the plane has taken off, not before.’

‘Are we going home?’

‘No,’ said Nat, without offering to elaborate.

Once she was dry, Su Ling concentrated on what to wear while Nat picked up the phone again.

‘An hour doesn’t give a girl a lot of time,’ said Su Ling.

‘That was the idea,’ said Nat, who was asking the front desk if they could order him a cab.

‘Damn,’ said Su Ling as she looked at all the presents. ‘There just isn’t going to be enough room to cram them all in.’

Nat replaced the receiver, walked over to the cupboard and produced a suitcase she’d never seen before. ‘Gucci?’ she asked, surprised by Nat’s unusual extravagance.