BOOK THREE

Chapter Seventeen

"I'm leaving for London in the morning, Howard."

"What's up?" Keller asked.

"Lord Macintosh has invited me to come over and take a look at a property he's interested in. He wants to go into partnership."

Brian Macintosh was one of the wealthiest real estate developers in England.

"What time do we leave?" Keller asked.

"I've decided to go alone."

"Oh?"

"I want you to keep an eye on things here."

He nodded. "Right. I'll do that."

"I know you will. I can always count on you."

The trip to London was uneventful. The private 727 she had purchased took off in the morning and landed at the Magec Terminal at Luton Airport outside London. She had no idea her life was about to change.

When Lara arrived at the lobby of Claridges, Ronald Jones, the manager, was there to greet her. "It's a pleasure to have you back, Miss Cameron. I'll show you to your suite. By the way, we have some messages for you." There were more than two dozen.

The suite was lovely. There were flowers from Brian MacIntosh and from Paul Martin, and champagne and hors d'oeuvres from the management. The phone began to ring the minute Lara walked in. The calls were from all over the United States.

"The architect wants to make some changes in the plans. It will cost a fortune..."

"There's a holdup on the cement delivery..."

"The First National Savings and Loan wants in on our next deal..."

"The mayor wants to know if you can be in L.A. for the opening. He'd like to plan a big ceremony..."

"The toilets haven't arrived..."

"Bad weather is holding us up. We're falling behind schedule..."

Each problem required a decision, and when Lara finally finished with her calls, she was exhausted. She had dinner in her room alone and sat looking out the window, at the Rolls-Royces and Bentleys pulling up to the Brook Street entrance, and a feeling of elation swept over her. The little girl from Glace Bay has come a long way, Daddy.

The following morning Lara went with Brian Macintosh to look at the proposed site. It was enormous - two miles of riverside frontage filled with old run-down buildings and storage sheds.

"The British government will give us a lot of tax relief on this," Brian Macintosh explained, "because we're going to rehabilitate this whole section of the city."

"I'd like to think about it," Lara said. She had already made up her mind.

"By the way, I have tickets to a concert tonight," Brian Macintosh told her. "My wife has a club meeting. Do you like classical music?"

Lara had no interest in classical music. "Yes."

"Philip Adler is playing Rachmaninoff." He looked at Lara as though expecting her to say something. She had never heard of Philip Adler.

"It sounds wonderful," Lara said.

"Good. We'll have supper afterward at Scotts. I'll pick you up at seven."

Why did I say I liked classical music? Lara wondered. It was going to be a boring evening. She would have preferred to take a hot bath and go to sleep. Oh, well, one more evening won't hurt me. I'll fly back to New York in the morning.

The Festival Hall was crowded with music aficionados. The men wore dinner jackets and the women were dressed in beautiful evening gowns. It was a gala evening, and there was a feeling of excited expectation in the large hall.

Brian Macintosh purchased two programs from the usher, and they were seated. He handed Lara a program. She barely glanced at it. The London Philharmonic Orchestra...Philip Adler playing Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Opus 30.

I've got to call Howard and remind him about the revised estimates on the Fifth Avenue site.

The conductor appeared onstage, and the audience applauded. Lara paid no attention. The contractor in Boston is moving too slowly. He needs a carrot. I'll tell Howard to offer him a bonus.

There was another loud round of applause from the audience. A man was taking his place at the piano at center stage. The conductor gave a downbeat, and the music began.

Philip Adler's fingers flashed across the keys.

A woman seated behind Lara said with a loud Texas accent, "Isn't he fantastic? I told you, Agnes!"

Lara tried to concentrate again. The London deal is out. It's the wrong neighborhood, Lara thought. People aren't going to want to live there. Location. Location. Location. She thought about a project that had been brought to her, near Columbus Circle. Now that one could work.

The woman behind Lara said, loudly, "His expression...he's fabulous! He's one of the most..."

Lara tried to tune her out.

The cost of an office building there would be approximately four hundred dollars per rentable square foot. If I can bring in the construction cost at one hundred fifty million, the land costs at one hundred twenty-five million, the soft costs...

"My God!" the woman behind Lara exclaimed.

Lara was startled out of her reverie.

"He's so brilliant!"

There was a drumroll from the orchestra, and Philip Adler played four bars alone, and the orchestra began to play faster and faster. The drums began to beat...

The woman could not contain herself. "Listen to that! The music is going from piu vivo to piu mosso. Have you ever heard anything so exciting?"

Lara gritted her teeth.

The minimum break-even should work out all right, she thought. The cost of the rentable square feet would be three hundred fifty million, the interest at ten percent would be thirty-five million, plus ten million in operating expenses...

The tempo of the music was increasing, reverberating through the hall. The music came to a sudden climax and stopped, and the audience was on its feet, cheering. There were calls of "bravo!" The pianist had risen and was taking bows.

Lara did not even bother to look up. Taxes would be about six, free rent concessions would come to two. We're talking about fifty-eight million.

"He's incredible, isn't he?" Brian Macintosh said.

"Yes." Lara was annoyed at having her thoughts interrupted again.

"Let's go backstage. Philip is a friend of mine."

"I really don't..."

He took Lara's hand, and they were moving toward an exit.

"I'm glad I'll have a chance to introduce you to him," Brian Macintosh said.

It's six o'clock in New York, Lara thought. I'll be able to call Howard and tell him to start negotiations.

"He's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, isn't he?"

Once is enough for me, Lara thought. "Yes."

They had reached the outside artists' entrance. There was a large crowd waiting. Brian Macintosh knocked on the door. A doorman opened it.

"Yes, sir?"

"Lord Macintosh to see Mr. Adler."

"Right, my lord. Come in, please." He opened the door wide enough to let Brian Macintosh and Lara enter, then closed it against the crowd.

"What do all these people want?" Lara asked.

He looked at her in surprise. "They're here to see Philip."

She wondered why.

The doorman said, "Go right into the greenroom, my lord."

"Thank you."

Five minutes, Lara thought, and I'll say I have to leave.

The greenroom was noisy and already full. People were crowded around a figure Lara could not see. The crowd shifted, and for an instant he was clearly visible. Lara froze, and for a moment she felt her heart stop. The vague, evanescent image that had been at the back of her mind all those years had suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Lochinvar, the vision in her fantasies, had come to life! The man at the center of the crowd was tall and blond, with delicate, sensitive features. He was wearing white tie and tails, and a feeling of deja vu swept over Lara: She was standing at the kitchen sink in the boardinghouse, and the handsome young man in white tie and tails came up behind her and whispered, "Can I help you?"

Brian Macintosh was watching Lara, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I...I'm fine." She was finding it difficult to breathe. Philip Adler was moving toward them, smiling, and it was the same warm smile Lara had imagined. He held out his hand. "Brian, how good of you to come."

"I wouldn't have missed it," Macintosh said. "You were simply marvelous."

"Thank you."

"Oh, Philip, I would like you to meet Lara Cameron."

Lara was looking into his eyes, and the words came out unbidden. "Do you dry?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Lara turned red. "Nothing. I..." She was suddenly tongue-tied.

People were crowding around Philip Adler, heaping praise on him.

"You've never played better..."

"I think Rachmaninoff was with you tonight..."

The praise went on and on. The women in the room were crowding around him, touching and pulling at him. Lara stood there watching, mesmerized. Her childhood dream had come true. Her fantasy had become flesh and blood.

"Are you ready to go?" Brian Macintosh asked Lara.

No. She wanted nothing more than to stay. She wanted to talk to the vision again, to touch him, to make sure he was real. "I'm ready," Lara said reluctantly.

The following morning Lara was on her way back to New York. She wondered whether she would ever see Philip Adler again.

She was unable to get him out of her mind. She tried to tell herself that it was ridiculous, that she was trying to relive a childhood dream, but it was no use. She kept seeing his face, hearing his voice. I must see him again, Lara thought.

Early the next morning Paul Martin telephoned.

"Hi, baby. I missed you. How was London?"

"Fine," Lara said carefully. "Just fine."

When they had finished talking, Lara sat at her desk thinking about Philip Adler.

"They're waiting for you in the conference room, Miss Cameron."

"I'm coming."

"We lost the Queens deal," Keller said.

"Why? I thought it was all set."

"So did I, but the community board refuses to support the zoning change."

Lara looked around at the Executive Committee assembled in the room. There were architects, lawyers, publicity men, and construction engineers.

Lara said, "I don't understand. Those tenants have an average income of nine thousand dollars a year, and they're paying less than two hundred dollars a month in rent. We're going to rehabilitate the apartments for them, at no increase in rent, and we're going to provide new apartments for some of the other residents in the neighborhood. We're giving them Christmas in July and they turned you down? What's the problem?"

"It's not the board so much. It's their chairman. A lady named Edith Benson."

"Set up another meeting with her. I'll go there myself."

Lara took her chief construction supervisor, Bill Whitman, to the meeting.

Lara said, "Frankly, I was stunned when I heard that your board turned us down. We're going to put up over a hundred million dollars to improve this neighborhood, and yet you refuse to..."

Edith Benson cut her short. "Let's be honest, Miss Cameron. You're not putting up the money to improve the neighborhood. You're putting up the money so Cameron Enterprises can make more money."

"Of course, we expect to make money," Lara said. "But the only way we can do that is to help you people. We're going to make the living conditions in your area better, and..."

"Sorry. I don't agree. Right now, we're a quiet little neighborhood. If we let you in, we're going to become a higherdensity area - more traffic, more automobiles, more pollution. We don't want any of that."

"Neither do I," Lara said. "We don't intend to put up dingbats that..."

"Dingbats?"

"Yes, those ugly, stripped-down, three-story stucco boxes. We're interested in designs that won't increase the noise level or reduce the light or change the feel of the neighborhood. We're not interested in hot dog, show-off architecture. I've already hired Stanton Fielding, the top architect in the country, to design this project, and Andrew Burton from Washington to do the landscaping."

Edith Benson shrugged. "I'm sorry. It's no use. I don't think there's anything more to discuss." She started to rise.

I can't lose this, Lara thought desperately. Can't they see it's for the good of their neighborhood? I'm trying to do something for them and they won't let me. And suddenly she had a wild idea.

"Wait a minute," Lara said. "I understand that the other members of the board are willing to make the deal but you are the one blocking it."

"That's correct."

Lara took a deep breath. "There is something to discuss." She hesitated. "It's very personal." She was fidgeting now. "You say I'm not worried about pollution and what happens to the environment in this neighborhood if we move in? I'm going to tell you something that I hope you will keep in confidence. I have a ten-year-old daughter that I'm crazy about, and she's going to live in the new building with her father. He has custody of her."

Edith Benson was looking at her in surprise. "I...I didn't know you had a daughter."

"No one does," Lara said quietly. "I've never been married. That's why I'm asking you to keep this confidential. If it gets out, it could be very damaging to me. I'm sure you understand that."

"I do understand."

"I love my daughter very much, and I assure you that I would never do anything in the world that would hurt her. I intend to do everything I can to make this project wonderful for all the people who live here. And she'll be one of them."

There was a sympathetic silence. "I must say, this...this puts quite a different complexion on things, Miss Cameron. I'd like to have some time to think about it." "Thank you. I appreciate that." If I did have a daughter, Lara thought, it would be safe for her to live here.

Three weeks later Lara got the approval from the City Planning Commission to go ahead with the project.

"Great," Lara said. "Now we'd better get hold of Stanton Fielding and Andrew Burton and see if they're interested in working on the project."

Howard Keller could not believe the news. "I heard what happened," he said. "You conned her! That's incredible. You don't have a daughter!"

"They need this project," Lara said. "This was the only way I could think of to change their minds."

Bill Whitman was listening. "There'll be hell to pay if they ever find out."

In January construction was completed on a new building on East Sixty-third Street. It was a forty-five-story apartment building, and Lara reserved the duplex penthouse for herself. The rooms were large, and the apartment had terraces that covered a full block. She brought in a top decorator to do the apartment. There was a housewarming for a hundred people.

"All it lacks is a man," one of the lady guests said cattily.

And Lara thought of Philip Adler and wondered where he was and what he was doing.

Lara and Howard Keller were in the middle of a discussion when Bill Whitman came into the office.

"Hi, boss. Got a minute?"

Lara looked up from her desk. "Just about, Bill. What's the problem?"

"My wife."

"If you're having marital difficulties..."

"It's not that. She thinks we ought to go away for a while on vacation. Maybe go to Paris for a few weeks." Lara frowned. "Paris? We're in the middle of half a dozen jobs."

"I know, but I've been working long hours lately, and I don't get to see much of my wife. You know what she said to me this morning? She said, 'Bill, if you got a promotion and a nice raise, you wouldn't have to work so hard.'" He smiled.

Lara sat back in her chair, studying him. "You aren't due for a raise until next year."

Whitman shrugged. "Who knows what can happen in a year? We might run into problems with that Queens deal, for instance. You know, old Edith Benson might hear something that would make her change her mind. Right?"

Lara sat very still. "I see."

Bill Whitman got to his feet. "Think about it, and let me know."

Lara forced a smile. "Yes."

She watched him walk out of her office, her face grim.

"Jesus," Keller said. "What was that all about?"

"It's called blackmail."

The following day Lara had lunch with Paul Martin.

Lara said, "Paul, I have a problem. I'm not sure how to handle it." She told him about her conversation with Bill Whitman.

"Do you think he'll really go back to the old lady?" Paul Martin asked.

"I don't know. But if he does, I could get in a lot of trouble with the Housing Commission."

Paul shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about him. He's probably bluffing."

Lara sighed. "I hope so."

"How would you like to go to Reno?" Paul asked.

"I'd love to, but I can't get away."

"I'm not asking you to get away. I'm asking if you'd like to buy a hotel and casino there."

Lara studied him. "Are you serious?"

"I got word that one of the hotels is going to lose its license. The place is a gold mine. When the news gets out, everyone is going to be after it. The hotel's going on auction, but I think I can fix it for you to get it."

Lara hesitated. "I don't know. I'm pretty heavily committed. Howard Keller says the banks won't lend me any more until I can pay off some loans."

"You don't have to go to a bank."

"Then where...?"

"Junk bonds. A lot of Wall Street firms offer them. There are savings and loan companies. You put up five percent equity, and a savings and loan company will put up sixtyfive percent in high-yield notes. That leaves thirty percent uncovered. You can get that from a foreign bank that invests in casinos. You've got choices - Switzerland, Germany, Japan. There are half a dozen banks that will put up the thirty percent in commercial notes."

Lara was beginning to get excited. "It sounds great. Do you really think you can get the hotel for me?"

Paul grinned. "It will be your Christmas present."

"You're wonderful. Why are you so good to me?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea," he teased. But he knew the answer. He was obsessed with her. Lara made him feel young again, and she made everything exciting for him. I never want to lose you, he thought.

Keller was waiting for Lara when she walked into the office.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "There was a two o'clock meeting that..."

"Tell me about junk bonds, Howard. We've never dealt with them. How are bonds rated?"

"Well, at the top you have Triple A. That would be a company like AT and T. Down the ladder you have Double A, Single A, BAA, and at the bottom of the ladder, Double B - those are the junk bonds. An investment bond will pay nine percent. A junk bond will pay fourteen percent. Why do you ask?"

Lara told him.

"A casino, Lara? Jesus! Paul Martin is behind this, isn't he?"

"No, Howard. If I go ahead with this, I'm behind it. Did we get an answer on our offer on the Battery Park property?"

"Yes. She won't sell to us."

"The property is up for sale, isn't it?"

"In a way."

"Stop talking in circles."

"It's owned by a doctor's widow, Eleanor Royce. Every real estate developer in town has been bidding on that property."

"Have we been outbid?"

"It isn't that. The old lady isn't interested in money. She's loaded."

"What is she interested in?"

"She wants some kind of monument to her husband. Apparently she thinks she was married to Albert Schweitzer. She wants to keep his flame burning. She doesn't want her property turned into anything crass or commercial. I hear Steve Murchison has been trying to talk her into settling."

"Oh?"

Lara sat there quietly for a full minute. When she spoke, she said, "Who's your doctor, Howard?"

"What?"

"Who's your doctor?"

"Seymour Bennett. He's chief of staff at Midtown Hospital."

The following morning Lara's attorney, Terry Hill, was sitting in the office of Dr. Seymour Bennett.

"My secretary told me that you wanted to see me urgently and that it has nothing to do with a medical problem."

"In a sense," Terry Hill said, "it does concern a medical problem, Dr. Bennett. I represent an investment group that wants to put up a nonprofit clinic. We want to be able to take care of those unfortunate people who can't afford regular medical care."

"That's a splendid idea," Dr. Bennett said. "What can I do to help you?"

Terry Hill told him.

The following day Dr. Bennett was having tea in the home of Eleanor Royce.

"They've asked me to approach you on behalf of this group, Mrs. Royce. They want to build a beautiful clinic, and they want to name it after your late husband. They visualize it as sort of a shrine to him."

Mrs. Royce's face lit up. "They do?"

They discussed the group's plans for an hour, and the end of that time Mrs. Royce said, "George would have loved this. You tell them that they have a deal."

Construction began six months later. When it was completed, it was gigantic. The entire square block was filled with huge apartment buildings, an enormous shopping mall, and a theater complex. In a remote corner of the property was a small one-story brick building. A simple sign over the door read: GEORGE ROYCE MEDICAL CLINIC.