“Bullshit,” snapped Roberta.

  Craddock raised his eyebrows, tipped his head, and smiled. “The late Mr. Hardeman was amused that he had a grandson who is a masochist married to a sadist. I can quote lines to you from your performance the night you were taped. Shall IT

  “Never mind,” said Loren rigidly. His face had reddened. “Are you saying you have this tape?”

  Craddock nodded. “A copy. Mr. Hardeman owned three taping machines. It was simple to wire two of them together and dupe the tapes.”

  “Tapes…,” said Roberta. “Other people besides us?”

  Craddock grinned. “Mr. Hardeman, you have a daughter who is a sexual athlete.”

  “With—?”

  “Mr. Perino.”

  Loren sighed. “I suppose you want money.” He poured himself half a glass of straight Scotch and gulped down half of it.

  Craddock grimaced and shrugged. “Only what is fair, Mr. Hardeman. Your grandfather was miserly in his will. He left a pittance to my mother, nothing to me, for years of faithful and confidential service.”

  “For a fee you will deliver the tapes to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Would two hundred thousand be unreasonable?”

  “Totally unreasonable. But let’s suppose I pay it. Where are the tapes and when do I get them?”

  “The tapes are in Florida, of course.”

  “Are you going to bring them here?”

  “If you wish

  “All right.”

  “Please understand that we were left poor people. Flying up here and renting a car…” He shrugged and held up his empty hands. Could you advance a bit of cash?”

  “I suppose so. I’m not sure how much I have in the house. I’ll have to open a safe. I’ll be a minute or two.”

  Roberta shook her head at Craddock. “Let me hear something my husband said on that tape.”

  “He said, Oh, honey, that’s great! Do it again.’ Another time he said, ‘Hey, not quite so hard! Jesus, that hurts!’ Then you said, ‘Hurts good, though, huh?’ Shall I go on?”

  “And Betsy? What did she and Perino do?”

  “Well … maybe I shouldn’t say.”

  Roberta crushed out her cigarette. “How do we know you won’t dupe the tapes again and come around for more money?”

  Craddock smiled. “You’ll have to trust me.”

  “Like shit,” said Loren. He stood in the doorway. In his right hand he held a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver.

  Craddock jumped to his feet. “Hey!” he shrieked.

  Loren fired. Craddock had turned to run for the back door, and Loren’s slug tore through his left buttock. Craddock screamed and jumped, struggling still to reach the door. Loren fired again. He missed the man entirely. This slug punched into the wall.

  Loren trembled as he aimed the pistol again. His hands shook, and his jaw trembled.

  Craddock screamed and screamed.

  Roberta grabbed the pistol from Loren, took aim, and fired. Her shot struck Craddock in the chest. He didn’t scream any more.

  Loren stumbled to the bar.

  “No!” Roberta yelled. “We’ve got a mess to clean up. We’ve got a body to dump. And a car. Not another goddamned drop!”

  “I had to do it,” Loren mumbled.

  “You had to do it,” she agreed. “What you didn’t have to do was fuck it up.”

  5

  They didn’t fuck up the rest of it. When the body was discovered and identified, the police questioned them, since Burt Craddock had been employed by Number One. But the connection between Craddock and Mr. and Mrs. Loren Hardeman the third was so tenuous that the detectives did not pursue it.

  They drew the same conclusion about the connection between Craddock and Angelo Perino. Over the phone Angelo confirmed that he had known Craddock but hadn’t seen the man since the last time he’d visited the Hardeman home in Palm Beach.

  Mrs. Craddock wept loudly but insisted she had no idea why her son had gone to Detroit.

  6

  Tadashi Komatsu would not manufacture a Japanese XB 2000.

  “You can sell this kind of car in the United States and in Europe,” he said; “nowhere else, I think. You make him, we make him, then we compete. Not enough market for that.”

  “I was hoping we could be partners in it,” said Angelo.

  Mr. Tadashi bowed but shook his head.

  “Other companies besides yours are developing epoxy resin materials and the technology to manufacture it at reasonable cost. I am impressed with yours, though. Will you license us to use your technology?”

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes.”

  “Will you lend me Keijo Shigeto? He and his family could live in the States for a year or two. I have much respect for his abilities as an engineer.”

  “Oh, yes. If he is willing.”

  7

  Cindy was pregnant again, and she wanted to enjoy sailing on the Sound before she became awkwardly heavy. Bill Adams had taught her and Angelo the elements of sailing his thirty-five-foot yawl, Eve, and with Alicia they made a crew of four who did not have to struggle to manage the boat.

  Bill liked to avoid weekend sailing, so it was on a Tuesday in August that they sailed west on Long Island Sound and anchored for lunch in Little Neck Bay. While Cindy and Alicia unpacked the lunch in the galley, Angelo and Bill sat in the stern and talked.

  “I don’t usually talk business when I’m sailing,” said Bill, “but the word on the Street is that you’re committing XB to making a sports car.”

  “I am. I want to expand the line. The Stallion is successful—”

  “It saved the company,” Bill interrupted.

  “I’ll accept that,” said Angelo, saluting with a martini.

  “The word is that you’re going to build the body with an epoxy resin material.”

  Angelo nodded. “It’s as strong as steel, with less than half the weight. We can get muscle-car performance from an engine that won’t guzzle gas.”

  “I’m going to make you a suggestion. Do you mind if I make you a suggestion?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I told you a long time ago that a corporate raider in New Jersey has his eyes on XB. His name is Herbert Froelich, the president of Froelich & Green, Incorporated. They’ve masterminded half a dozen takeovers of medium-sized industrial corporations over the past eight or nine years. Not one of those companies still exists. They sell off their assets for a profit, then dissolve them. Now that XB looks far more sound than it used to, they’re looking for the money to buy the stock.”

  “A lot of it is family held,” said Angelo. “A lot of it is held by the Hardeman Foundation. I don’t think any of them will sell.”

  “You never know,” said Bill. “Cash looks awfully good sometimes. Loren the Third is married to a woman who might want to get out of Detroit. They could go wherever they like and live like the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.”

  Angelo shook his head. “I don’t know what I can do about it.”

  “That’s what I want to suggest—what you can do about it. You want to license Shizoka’s epoxy resin technology. Buy the license yourself, manufacture it yourself, and sell it to XB.”

  “I can see two problems,” said Angelo. “First is financing the license—”

  “We can find the money. The Perinos and Morrises are not poor. You’ve got a record. So does Shizoka. If Tadashi Komatsu will license the technology, he’d probably give you better terms than he’d give the company.”

  “The second problem is that there’s a conflict of interests,” said Angelo. “As an officer of XB, how can I—”

  “Essentially, you be sure the company is completely informed of what you’re doing. Conflict of interests usually implies secrecy. Anyway, it might be arranged that Mr. Tadashi won’t license to XB.”

  “Arranged…?”

  “Let me arrange it. You don’t know about it.”

  8

  The board of directors assembled around the big table in the boardroom. As usual, Angelo Perino, vice president for research and development, sat in a chair set back against the wall, not at the table. Peter Beacon, vice president for engineering, sat in a chair that was similarly positioned.

  Loren presided. Roberta sat to his right. James Randolph, Professor Mueller, and Alexander Briley sat along the two sides of the table. As usual, Princess Anne Alekhine had not chosen to fly in from Europe for the meeting. If she had, she would have been the only vote Loren could not count on.

  Angelo sensed renewed hostility from Loren. Well, why not? He’d lost his temper that night in Betsy’s suite and decked the man. That would cost him something, sooner or later. But Roberta? Why was she cold?

  “The purpose of the meeting,” said Loren, “is to decide whether the company should continue with the XB 2000 project, in light of a serious recent setback. It seems that an essential element of Mr. Perino’s sports-racing car will not be available to us. Shizoka, the Japanese company that was to have supplied the technology for manufacturing the epoxy resin material that was to have formed the body of the car, will not license that technology to us. Without it, the car will weigh far too much to perform as promised. I can’t see any option but to drop the project.”

  Everyone was staring at Angelo to see what he would say. “That’s a somewhat facile conclusion, Mr. President. There are other ways to acquire the technology.”

  “What I’d like to know,” said Professor Mueller, “is why Shizoka won’t sell the technology to us.”

  “Mr. Tadashi,” said Loren, “has some idea that our company is in danger of being acquired by a corporate raider. The raider has an unsavory reputation, in the view of Mr. Tadashi, and he does not want the technology to fall into the hands of people he doesn’t trust. In view of the fact that a majority of the shares is represented right here at this table, in my shares and those owned by the Hardeman Foundation, that’s obviously a fanciful notion.”

  “He offered XB a license,” Angelo clarified, “on the condition that the company not fall under the control of new management.”

  “Our lawyers say we can’t buy that,” said Loren. “It’s contrary to American corporation law to make it impossible for a corporation to change management.”

  “And the new car can’t be built without this stuff?” asked Briley, the retired congressman.

  “The whole cockamamie project depends on that and a few other things that are entirely uncertain,” said Loren sullenly.

  “I can get us the material,” said Angelo.

  “Oh? How?”

  “Mr. Tadashi will not license the technology to the company. But he will license it to me. I can form a corporation that will manufacture it and sell it to XB Motors.”

  “And how much money do we have to put up?” Loren asked.

  “None, till I deliver the product,” said Angelo. “My company will manufacture the epoxy resin, form it into bodies for the XB 2000, and deliver it for a price that will probably be less than the cost of manufacturing it in an XB plant.”

  “I fail to see,” said James Randolph, the director of the foundation, “how a corporate officer can lawfully and ethically sell to his own corporation.”

  Angelo stood and handed a paper to Loren. “That’s my resignation as a vice president of XB Motors,” he said. “If XB is not going to build the 2000,1 have other things to do. If it is, I will sell you bodies. I will also continue to offer my services as a consultant, if you want them. My lawyers say there is nothing illegal about this arrangement. There is nothing unethical about it, either, because I have just put it all out on the table.”

  “May I inquire as to how you are going to raise the money to do all of this?” Loren asked.

  Angelo grinned. “I have some money of my own, as you know. So does Cindy. She’s a major stockholder in Morris Mining. And, well, maybe I’ll pledge my stock in XB Motors.”

  “This board has already committed the company to building the 2000,” said Roberta. “Mr. Perino already got us to stick our necks way out. The only reason for reviewing that decision was the problem in securing the body material. If we can get it—”

  “Then we’ve got nothing to think about,” Loren interrupted her. He turned and faced Roberta. “You think we should go ahead?”

  “Nothing has changed,” she said. “Our newly resigned vice president has committed us.”

  “Very well. I’d like the approval of the board to negotiate a contract with Mr. Perino. I accept his resignation.”

  9

  Roberta took Angelo aside in the hall outside the board room.

  “Someday you’re going to outsmart yourself,” she said. “From what I gather, this epoxy resin stuff may be the only part of this project that’s worth anything. How’d you work it with the Japs?”

  “Roberta, I swear before God that I didn’t. Mr. Tadashi didn’t hear about the takeover rumor from me. You told me about the New Jersey raider and the possibility of your and Loren’s moving to Paris, but I swear I didn’t mention it to anyone, much less to anyone in Japan.”

  She sighed. “Okay. So you say. You’re going to own the best part of the deal.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Swear to me something else,” she said grimly.

  “What?”

  “Swear to me the child Betsy is carrying is not yours.”

  Angelo nodded. “I swear.”

  She settled a cold, steady gaze on him for a long moment. “I don’t believe you,” she muttered.

  “You want to ask tough questions and be skeptical about the answers? I have a question for you and Loren. Do you want to swear to me you had nothing to do with the death of Burt Craddock?”

  “Who’s Burt Craddock?”

  “Thank you. You’ve just answered the question.”

  XXI

  1983

  1

  On January 28, Betsy gave birth to a baby boy. Angelo could not fly to London to be with her. That would have said too much to too many people.

  She was not alone, though. Max van Ludwige came over from Amsterdam, and Princess Anne Alekhine came up from the south of France.

  When Angelo did arrive on February 3, for a meeting with the six British dealers who were selling Stallions, Princess Anne was still there. Betsy had confided to her who the child’s father was. The three of them sat in Betsy’s living room overlooking Regent’s Park, and she talked frankly in the presence of Anne.

  “Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t name him Angelo, could I? So he is John, named for your father, Angelo. John Hardeman. I don’t know if you want to tell your father he has another grandson.”

  “I’ve already told him. And you know what he did? He put in a call to Jacob Weinstein in Arizona, the man we call Uncle Jake, who manages the Perino family money. He told Uncle Jake to put half a million dollars in a trust fund for this grandson. He told him to invest it so the boy will have a nice nest egg when he’s old enough to need it. Uncle Jake also manages a trust fund for me, and I had him put half a million of that into the new trust. Little John is a millionaire already, and he’ll be that many times over by the time he’s a young man. Uncle Jake is an investment genius.”

  The baby was asleep in a bassinet. The nanny had taken little Sally, who was two years old, for a stroll in the park.

  “I’m nursing him,” said Betsy. “I didn’t with the two others, but the doctor convinced me to do it for little John. It’s a little confining. You’ll have to come here for dinner. I can’t go out. Both of you, of course. Say, seven?”

  “Yes. I’m meeting my dealers for lunch and some bankers in the afternoon, but seven will be fine.”

  Betsy stared fondly at little John. “I told you I’d have your baby someday,” she said.

  2

  When Angelo and Princess Anne left Betsy that night after dining with her, they shared a cab. She was staying at the Savoy. When they reached the hotel, Anne suggested he come in for a nightcap.

  “I didn’t want to suggest one before, when poor Betsy can’t drink.”

  She led him into a small dark bar where they could talk rather than be entertained, and they ordered brandies. Even in the Savoy, where extraordinary people were ordinary, Princess Anne Alekhine drew glances and some stares. She was tall, and at the age of fifty-three still kept a tight and flawless figure. She wore a long mink coat, open and showing her pink cashmere dress and a double strand of pearls around her neck. She was conspicuously an aristocrat. She hadn’t been born one, but she had studied carefully and learned the trade. She successfully cultivated an air of elegance and sophistication.

  “I don’t mean to imply anything unkind about your wife, but it really is too bad you and Betsy couldn’t have married. You are a perfectly matched couple.”

  Angelo smiled. “In what sense?” he asked.

  “You’re both smart. You know what you want and go after it. You’re not afraid to take risks.”

  “I shouldn’t have gotten her pregnant,” he said. “Actually, from my standpoint it was an accident. She wanted it and—”

  “She told me.”

  “I’m glad there’s someone she confides in. I think she’s lonely. I can’t be with her except on occasion.”

  “She has no family,” said Anne, “except the one she’s making for herself. My nephew is a cipher. And that woman he married is beneath contempt.”

  “I’m going to be a father again in a couple of months,” said Angelo. “Our fifth. And final. Cindy is thirty-five. It’s time to stop. Though … she gave me a beautiful painting of herself for Christmas. Have you heard of Amanda Finch?”