McNally's chance (mcnally) Page 9

  “Then I can see no further reason to continue this game of cat and mouse, Mr. Appleton. It’s been a pleasure, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, not so fast,” he again held out a restraining hand. “Can we make a deal, Mr. McNally?”

  With a shrug I countered, “That depends, sir. What’s in it for me?”

  He smiled. “I like you, Mr. McNally. I like you very much. I even like your white cotton trousers and your red-and-white-striped hop sack jacket. I hope it starts a trend.”

  “If it does, Mr. Appleton, I will give the ensemble to Goodwill. I like to think of myself as one of a kind.”

  Now he laughed with gusto. “And judging from your ethics, Mr. McNally, you are just that.”

  Without a pause I said, “But it’s my ethics you want to compromise, Mr.

  Appleton.”

  “So it is. Will you hear me out?”

  “Only a fool refuses to listen, sir. What are you putting on the table?”

  “A thirty-year-old secret. Interested?”

  And what must I give in return, sir?”

  “First, your word that you will never repeat what I tell you and, second, you will tell me if Sabrina Wright’s visit to Palm Beach has anything to do with that secret. Deal?” He actually held out his hand which I shook, for the second time that day.

  “Deal,” I responded.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled the words, “Gillian Wright is my natural daughter.” With that he raised his eyes upward as if he expected the ceiling of the New Media Lounge to come down upon us in retribution for either his productivity or his confession thereof. It didn’t.

  “This is not Sabrina’s first visit to our Island,” he expanded on his confession. “She was here some thirty years ago when we were both students. It was labeled spring break and Fort Lauderdale was the hot spot for that holiday. As I recall it was a hundred and ten in the shade and very drunk out. Sabrina and I had what some poet called a brief encounter.” “Playwright, sir. Noel Coward,” I corrected.

  “Playwright or poet, the result was Gillian,” he said.

  To add a little romantic nostalgia to the tale I asked, “Was Sabrina very beautiful, sir?”

  “Let’s say she was available, Mr. McNally.”

  “Please, sir, call me Archy.”

  “And you call me Tom.”

  There is nothing like talk of sexual transgressions and ethics bashing to evoke intimacy between men of good breeding. Having melted the ice we fell into the drink and went with the floe.

  “I’m afraid, Tom, the reason for Sabrina’s visit has much to do with your brief encounter.”

  He nodded as if resigned to his fate. “I thought so,” he said. “I am not an insensitive man, Archy, and I didn’t exactly leave Sabrina in the lurch. In fact, monetarily speaking, she was far better off after our brief encounter, believe me.”

  Now that he had opened up to me I saw no reason to pretend I didn’t already know his secret. Also, certain that Appleton would never talk to anyone about this conversation I felt I wasn’t compromising my former client’s position by revealing facts of which Tom Appleton was already painfully aware. “She told me as much,” I revealed, ‘and I’m not one to cast the first stone.”

  “She told you everything?” he asked.

  “Everything but your name. She did not divulge that.”

  “So if I hadn’t called you, you would never know…”

  His voice died away and he shook his head woefully. “What fools we mortals be,” he lamented. Then, perhaps to rationalize his actions, he added, “I couldn’t take that chance, I had to know what she’s up to.

  I’m a widower, Archy, and I would now gladly acknowledge Gillian and to hell with what anyone might say, but such a move could prove disastrous for those innocent of any wrongdoing. You know my son is involved in state politics?”

  “So I’ve heard, and with a bright future, they say.”

  Appleton started in his chair. “More than bright. There’s talk of a run for the Senate, the U.S. Senate, that is, within the next four years. Any hint of a scandal would cause his backers to run scared.”

  “He has nothing to do with the brief encounter,” I said.

  “But he has everything to do with me, and in politics guilt by association is a fact, not a figure of speech.”

  “I assume your son is happily married,” I ventured.

  “He’s married, Archy, that’s for sure. She’s photogenic, and that seems to make them both happy. She’s given him the requisite number of children, boy and girl, employs no staff off the books, subscribes to no less than four charities, the recipients of which are Asian Americans, African-Americans, Native Americans, and Hispanic Americans, and she wears her hair in the style of the late Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. They’re what the pols call a dream couple and I don’t intend to turn the dream into a nightmare.” In the manner of a harassed executive being confronted with a hostile takeover he leaned toward me and pleaded, “What the hell does Sabrina want, Archy?”

  “Only to protect you,” I assured him.

  I believe that we humans come equipped with a sixth sense that, at this early stage of our evolution, we cannot access at will, but the uncanny thing does make itself known for no discernable reason at the oddest of moments. This was one of them. Call it intuition, inspiration, instinct, precognition, or plain old gut feeling, but when I spoke those words to Thomas Appleton I knew as sure as I was sitting in the New Media Lounge of the PBICA that Sabrina’s mission was to protect herself first, and Thomas Appleton only as long as it didn’t jeopardize her position.

  Why was she so unyielding in her determination to keep the name of Gillian’s father a secret? Because of the deal she had struck with Appleton? I no longer believed that. In fact my gut feeling said Sabrina Wright didn’t give a dam for Thomas Appleton per se after all these years, yet she was willing to sacrifice her daughter’s affection, such as it was, to protect him. This was not the stratagem of a survivor.

  Appleton’s eyes searched my face like a child wanting to believe in the tooth fairy when common sense, and the kid next door, told him it was all a crock. Tom,” I said, “Sabrina knows your name and address, correct?”

  “Sure,” he answered.

  “Therefore she didn’t hire me to find you. Correct?”

  “I know all that, Archy, but who’s the man that got away?” he questioned.

  Never had so many been so concerned over five words from a gossip column that didn’t mean a thing to anyone, including the columnist. I explained their meaning to Appleton as best I could and gave him what I believed to be their source.

  Still skeptical he said, “Sabrina came down here looking for her husband?”

  Having reached the point of no return, I told Appleton exactly why Sabrina had come to Palm Beach, reiterating yet again, “She’s here to protect you, Tom.” Of course, what I had to say didn’t alleviate his fears, it just shifted them from mother to daughter.

  I hate to hear a grown man moan, but that is exactly what Thomas Appleton did when he heard my story. Or should that be Sabrina’s story? “She told Gillian the truth?”

  In our society what passes for the truth is usually the lie everyone agrees upon hence Appleton’s incredulity. He couldn’t agree with her less. Sabrina had broken the commandment and reprisal was swift and exacting. Gillian and Zack go after the Holy Grail, Silvester and Sabrina follow to make sure they don’t find it, Lolly runs a blind item and Archy is toe-to-toe with an Appleton in the New Media Lounge of the PBICA. You go figure.

  And another county is heard from. Good grief, Zack Ward. I almost forgot about him. If Appleton thought he had reached the nadir of this conversation I had a bulletin for the old bean.

  “Sabrina didn’t disclose your identity to Gillian,” I insisted. “In fact she’s down here to make certain that Gillian does not learn who you are. I can tell you that Sabrina is determined that Gillian, or anyone else for that matter, will never know you are Gillian’
s father.

  Her sole concern is protecting your anonymity, Tom.”

  “Why?” he wondered.

  Two minds with but a single thought. Appleton was having as much trouble as yrs. truly trying to figure out Sabrina’s munificence. My job was to placate not incite the man so I answered, “Because she entered into a pact with you…”

  “For which she was well paid, believe me.”

  The rich can’t resist reminding you of the fact. Be that as it may, I went on, “She’s holding up her end, as agreed.”

  Still perplexed, he groused, “Whatever induced her to tell Gillian the truth? It was my understanding at the time that the infant would be put up for adoption and then Sabrina would adopt her. It was the most expedient thing to do at the time and, lord knows, it’s worked for others. Why? And why now?”

  I told him what Sabrina had told me. “She doesn’t like Zack Ward, the guy Gillian is dating and getting serious about, and she thought the girl would be more receptive to the advice of her flesh-and-blood mother.”

  Appleton frowned, “Now she and her boyfriend are down here looking for her flesh-and-blood papa. It’s bizarre.”

  “Not really,” I protested. “If you learned your father was not your real father, wouldn’t you be curious to know who was?”

  “Archy, my father was one of the richest men in the world. If someone told me he wasn’t really my father I would tell that SOB. to bug off.”

  Hey, the guy had a point.

  “And just who the hell is this Zack Ward anyway?” he nearly bellowed.

  Were this a film I would yell, “Cut!” and we would break for lunch.

  This would give me time to compose a response that would not cause Thomas Appleton’s heart to pause for an unhealthy period of time. This not being the case, I had no choice but to keep the camera grinding and hope for the best. “I was meaning to tell you about Zack,” I said. “I believe he’s a reporter for a trashy tabloid.”

  Appleton’s cheeks glowed to a point where I feared spontaneous combustion would turn his head into a burning bush. He opened his mouth but gasps, not words, emerged. “Can I get you some water, Tom?”

  Closing his eyes he answered slowly and sincerely, “I don’t suppose you have any cyanide on you.”

  “Afraid not, Tom. But let’s be realistic. As we speak, Sabrina is talking those two into returning to New York and she will never reveal your name to them or anyone else,” I repeated for good measure. And that should settle it.”

  “That should settle it?” He mimicked. “Archy, that’s what Chamberlain said when he got back from Munich.”

  He had a point there, too.

  As if thinking aloud, Appleton reasoned, “If Sabrina told Gillian the true story of her birth because Sabrina thought it would work to her advantage, what would stop her from revealing my name to the girl for the same reason?”

  Point number three, and he took the set. “It’s a fear you may have to live with, Tom,” I said.

  “I do not and I will not.” He spoke like a man used to getting his way regardless of the consequences. “Where is Sabrina, Archy?”

  “They’re all bedded down at The Breakers,” I told him.

  “I’m going to call and meet with her.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “No, but I have to impress upon her that I will go to any length to protect myself and my family from any scandal.”

  There was that menacing phrase again and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one stinking iota.

  Nine

  Given the amount of time and energy I was putting into a case that was closed and a family affair that was none of my business, “The Man That Got Away’ could now be retitled “The Man Who Wouldn’t Go Away.” I didn’t owe Sabrina Wright a thing but couldn’t resist one last conversation with the lady to warn her of the imminent call from her former, if brief, lover. If nothing else, it would be interesting to see what her reaction would be to hearing from him after all these years — and to my being a third party to their little secret.

  Did I also want to impress upon her my unique ability to ferret out the most obscure Palm Beach mysteries without really trying? Sure. I might even turn up in a Sabrina Wright novel as a PI named Danny Desire.

  I made the call from my office, asking the desk at The Breakers for Mr.

  Robert Silvester. It worked. I was immediately connected to his suite and doubly rewarded with the now familiar sound of Sabrina’s deep-throated, “Hello.”

  “Archy McNally here,” I announced.

  “Mr. McNally, what a coincidence. We were just talking about you,”

  Sabrina said.

  “I take it you are not alone.”

  “No. Robert is with me. Why do you ask?”

  “I want to pass on a bit of information that is intended for your ears only.”

  There was a pause during which I thought I could hear a sharp intake of breath, or was there static on the line? “Is your daughter with you?”

  Now there was no mistaking the anxiety in her voice when she answered,

  “No. She and Zack are out hunting.”

  Was it open season on runaway fathers? And just how did one go about tracking down a man you had never seen and didn’t even know existed until a few weeks ago? “I hope they’re not knocking on the doors of the local gentry. The people in these parts don’t take kindly to nosey strangers. They’re apt to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “I believe they went to the local library to scan the newspapers dating back to nine months before Gillian’s birthday. Clever, don’t you think?”

  I thought it was rather dumb and from the mocking inflection in Sabrina’s delivery, so did she. The young people’s endeavor did prove just how hopeless poor Gillian’s chances were of finding her father after a trail gone cold for thirty years. Did she expect to turn up an item listing all the couples who had engaged in sexual congress in southern Florida nine months before her birth? “I take it you haven’t been able to talk her into abandoning the search and going home.”

  “You take it right, Mr. McNally, but I’ve made them an offer they might find hard to turn down,” she boasted.

  Did this family never tire of bartering their lives away? “May I know what it is?”

  “Certainly,” she answered with an enthusiasm that was far too coy to be genuine. “I will give Zack an exclusive interview for his rag if he and Gillian will give up this asinine charade. Believe me, Mr.

  McNally, it’s against all my principles to be misquoted in a lousy tabloid, but if it gets Gillian off the scent, I’ll do it.”

  Whoever would have thunk it? Sabrina, sacrificing her principles for the sake of a one-night stand. Noblesse oblige or noblesse desperate?

  This was bad news for Tom Appleton.

  “What will you disclose in the interview?” I asked.

  “As little as possible,” she said. I’ve had practice in saying nothing to the press in several thousand words. If he dares mention Gillian’s father I will deny everything.”

  Right now the odds seemed to be with Tom but Sabrina clearly wanted to see the last of this charade, as she termed it, and the lady was at the end of her tether, which was never very long.

  I gave her my professional but, uncalled-for opinion on her offer.

  “Judging from what Gillian told me, I doubt she will allow Zack to accept, tempting as it may be.”

  “Of course,” Sabrina exclaimed like a doting mother, ‘you met the children. What do you think of them?”

  “Like I said, I think they’re two very determined people. You would do well, Ms Wright, to go back to new York and leave them to their groping in the dark. Sooner or later they’ll come home, sadder but wiser.”

  “And more angry than ever,” she cried. “And estranged from me forever, I dare say. No, that would never do. We must resolve this thing here and now, Mr. McNally, and go back home together, as a family. A happy family. In short, Gillian must acquiesc
e to my better judgment and resign herself to playing out the hand she was dealt, as I was forced to do.”

  This woman was in possession of a pair of cojones that would put the Dallas Cowboys to shame. Like Frank Sinatra, Sabrina Wright did it her way, and pity the daughter who refused to acquiesce. And now here comes Archy, the bearer of news that might help or hinder her case Appleton’s case? Gillian’s case? or none of the above? Not having a stake in the matter I rolled the dice, knowing they were loaded.

  “I said I had something to tell you, Ms Wright.”

  “So you did. And just what is it that’s meant for my ears alone? My bill?”

  “That will come in the mail,” I promised. “You are going to get a phone call, Ms Wright. I pass this on as I believe I owe it to you as a former client. He is going to call. Very soon, I expect.”

  “He? I don’t follow, Mr. McNally. Who is he?”

  “He is Gillian’s father.”

  If early I thought I had detected a sharp intake of breath when I mentioned the reason I was calling, I now heard the most horrific sound known to our species silence. I waited a good minute before I asked, Are you there, Ms Wright?”

  “I take it you’re not joking,” she said.

  “No, ma’am. He is going to call you.”

  “How do you know this, may I ask?”

  “You may,” I said. “I know this because he told me so.”

  A pause. She was thinking, but unable to see her face I had no idea what she was thinking. “Mr. McNally, I demand to know how all this transpired.”

  “It was that blind item in the paper. Remember? He thought you were down here looking for him. He contacted me, we met, and Bob’s your uncle.”

  “We can do without the levity,” she cautioned, employing the royal pronoun. And just how the hell did he know you were involved on my behalf?”

  She was seething and running scared. Like Chauncey’s common face and noble tail, this, too, was a lethal combination. I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Ms Wright, without giving away the tricks of my trade.”