TWENTY-SIX

A CALL FROM SHARON, Jeff’s wife? Something had to be wrong. Cameron called her back as soon as he could get to the privacy of his own room.

“Jeff’s talking about leaving again.”

“Leaving? For where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“Well, does he have a buyer for the business? Dad can’t—”

“He’s not leaving Tucson or the business, Cameron. He’s talking about leaving me, us.”

“He wouldn’t. With the kids there? I mean, he wouldn’t leave you either, would he? And why, anyway?”

“He did before, Cam. You remember.”

“Yeah, but that was different. You didn’t have kids and you were both young. He just didn’t know how to be a husband yet.”

“You know why he left.”

“Yeah. But you’re different now, aren’t you, Sharon?”

“Less strident, you mean?”

“I guess.”

“I hope so. But since your mother died, Jeff’s been on edge. I’ve never made him go to church with me, and I’ve tried not to nag him about going. But he senses the tension. I go and take the kids, of course. He has to feel bad, especially when he has nothing else to do, no excuses. He doesn’t play golf or bowl or play poker, you know. I couldn’t tell you if he’s even got friends. When he’s not working he likes to just sit around, read the paper, watch television. And I don’t begrudge him that. I don’t. And while I wish he’d come back to God, back to the church, I know it’s his decision alone. But I don’t want to lose him. Can you talk to him, Cameron?”

“Me?”

“Who else?”

“I’m the kid brother, Sharon. Remember? He may be proud of me, but he doesn’t want me to know that. I doubt he looks up to me. And I’ve never dated anyone more than three times in a row, let alone been married. Who am I to counsel him?”

He could hear her breathing, and he knew she knew he was right. But she was without options. Cameron’s father was sure not up to confronting Jeff. “How’s Dad doing anyway?”

“Ah, he’s constantly underfoot. He had been phasing out of the business, you know, especially during your mother’s last few months. But he needs something to do now, and both Jeff and I urged him to come back. We shouldn’t have. We had in mind that he would help out in the shop, keep an eye on the mechanics, that kind of thing.”

“Didn’t work?”

“Not at all. Jeff had to quit filling in and driving routes, because when he’s away, Dad thinks he should take over. Everything goes back to the way it was when he was in charge, and everybody’s frustrated.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But that’s not the issue, Cam. I can’t lose Jeff. Frustrating as he is, I love him and want him around. The kids need him. He’s a good dad.”

“You told anybody else about this?”

“No.”

“Then he’s going to know where I heard it.”

“That’s all right.”

“I’ll talk to him, Sharon, but I’m not optimistic.”

Leon Fortunato was giddy over his assignment. “I’ll wear my best suit,” he said.

“No, just do this by phone, Leon,” Nicolae said. “You cannot risk being seen with her.”

“Of course.”

“And be quick. This could be crucial.”

Leon called Luciana Tismaneanu, Emil’s grown daughter, who, the society pages had recently announced, was engaged and would be married shortly after the parliamentary election.

Leon identified himself and asked if Luciana was aware of her father’s relationship with Mr. Carpathia.

“Only that they are running for the same office, sir. I know they have said inflammatory things about one another, but Father assures me that’s just politics and that he harbors no personal animosity.”

“That is wonderful to hear, Miss Tismaneanu. I assure you the sentiment goes both ways. In fact, Mr. Carpathia greatly admires your father and considers him a friend.”

“A friend? I was not aware they knew each other that well.”

“Getting more acquainted every day,” Leon said. “And close enough to know that your father’s birthday is on the horizon.”

“Yes, a week from tomorrow,” Luciana said. “We’re planning a private family gathering.”

“How wonderful. Now I am wondering if I could consult with you about something in total confidence.”

“Well, sure, I guess.”

“Mr. Carpathia is determined to keep this election on the highest moral ground possible and to call a moratorium on the mudslinging.”

“Father will be overjoyed to hear that and will, I’m sure, comply reciprocally.”

“Mr. Carpathia wishes to remain friends with your father, wholly apart from the results of the election.”

“I suppose it’s no surprise to you, Mr. Fortunato, that early polling shows a victory is unlikely for my father. He still has high hopes, of course, and is planning to announce some new initiatives. But he is a realist, a pragmatist. He is only disappointed, I believe, because he sincerely thought one more term in the Parliament would set him up to run for the upper house and eventually the presidency.”

“That’s very interesting, Miss Tismaneanu, because the truth is that the only hesitation Mr. Carpathia has about winning this election is that he hopes it does not damage your father’s potential for a run for head of state.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. Finally Miss Tismaneanu said, “Are you serious? Mr. Carpathia thinks my father is presidential material?”

“You would be surprised at the esteem in which Mr. Carpathia holds your father.”

“I am surprised.”

“Prepare to be more so. We are fully aware that what I am about to propose could look like a cheap political trick, but I assure you it is not. Mr. Carpathia would like to hold a surprise birthday reception for your father, a small gathering here in his home for just your family and close associates and a few guests on this side. Mr. Carpathia would pledge absolute confidentiality so that he would gain no political or media benefit. He merely wishes to do this as a token of his admiration for a worthy opponent.”

“I am stunned,” she said. “And father would be too.”

“The point is,” Leon said, “we would have to work very hard to surprise him, would we not?”

“Very.”

“That is where you come in. Mr. Carpathia would appreciate it very much if he could meet with you privately soon to go over plans for the evening and to strategize with you about the best way to get your father here for the surprise.”

“Nicolae Carpathia wants to meet with me?”

“Very much. This would be at your convenience, would have to be totally confidential, of course, and he would be prepared to have you picked up and delivered back to your residence.”

“I live downtown in the apartment where my fiancé and I will be living after our wedding.”

“No problem. Are you willing and able? We’re looking at very late some evening within the next few days.”

The second time Hattie Durham asked Rayford for a ride home, he suggested she just count on him from then on.

“Are you sure, Captain? It’s a lot to ask.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not that far out of the way, and I’m sure your roommate will enjoy the break.”

“Yeah. She’s out of town for a few days and my car’s on the fritz again.”

Rayford couldn’t tell whether Hattie was telling him this to explain her predicament or if she just wanted him to know she was home alone. He wasn’t about to suggest anything, but he had to admit to himself that he would be flattered if she asked him to come up. He told himself he would decline, but he was disappointed when she didn’t ask.

To cover himself, he told Irene of his offer to Hattie.

“That’s nice,” she said, “as long as she’s not in love with you.”

Rayford snorted. “That’ll be the day. I’m nearly old enough to be her father. And, hey, would it bother you so much if she was in love with me?”

Irene laughed. “Of course. But it wouldn’t surprise me. I can’t be the only woman in Illinois with good taste.”

That stabbed Rayford. All he had put her through, how cold he had become, how formal their marriage was . . . and she was still saying nice things. He wished he deserved that.

Cameron was on the phone with Jeff.

“So she told you, huh?”

“Yup.”

“And, what, she wants you, of all people, to talk me out of this?”

“Shows how desperate she is, Jeff. You remember when you left her the last time, you didn’t behave.”

“I know. I left and then gave her reason to not take me back.”

“But she did. And why?”

“I know, Cam. She was a better person than I was. Probably still is.”

“Then don’t be stupid. What are you doing? Why do you want out?”

“Because she’s got it all together, man. I hate my job. I hate what Dad’s doing. I don’t hate you, but I should.”

“Then go ahead and hate me.”

“I don’t, Cam, but I don’t like you sticking your nose into my marriage either.”

“You think I like it? She called me, Jeff.”

“I probably won’t leave anyway. I don’t know how I’d explain it to the kids.”

“Easy. Just tell them their mother is a better person than you and that you’re an idiot who doesn’t know how good he has it.”

“All right already, Cam. I said I probably wouldn’t do it.”

“Well, could you do me a favor and give me the credit if you stay? I could use the brownie points with your wife.”

“Why? She tell you she thinks you’re lost too?”

“Not in so many words,” Cameron said.

“No,” Jeff said, “but we get the point, don’t we? You realize how hard it is to live with a saint?”

“I can’t imagine. Especially when you’re the opposite.”

About thirty people showed up to the surprise party for Emil Tismaneanu, and it was clear to Nicolae that the man was truly stunned. He seemed to paste on a grateful smile for his family, who had all been involved somehow in the ruse. But his eyes conveyed something else altogether when he looked at Nicolae.

When they finally had occasion to be apart from the others for a moment, Tismaneanu said, “I need a minute with you when it’s convenient.”

“Even this evening?” Nicolae said.

“If possible.”

“Shall we steal away right now? retire to my office?”

“Let me cover my tracks,” Emil said. He went and spoke briefly with his wife, then his chief of staff, then a man who appeared to be part of his security detail. The man handed him a manila envelope, and Emil returned to Carpathia.

“All set? Follow me.”

In his office Carpathia sat at a small conference table directly across from his rival. “I hope this was a pleasant surprise, Emil.”

“Oh, please let’s cut the bălegar, Carpathia. I don’t trust you for a second.”

“I assure you the press knows nothing of this, sir, and I plan to keep it that way. I will not exploit this for my political gain.”

“What then? There has to be something in this for you.”

“Just your presence and friendship.”

“You make me sick.”

“Emil, please. I am extending an olive branch here.”

“Well, let me show you what I am extending.” Tismaneanu slid the envelope across the table.

Nicolae eagerly slit it open. “Why, look at that!” he said, beaming. “That looks like my place. And my car. And my driver. But who is the young lady? She looks so familiar. Fetching, do you not agree?”

Tismaneanu sat stonily, staring at Carpathia.

“Tell me, Emil, if you do not think she is more than atrăgător?” He turned the picture right side up for Tismaneanu.

But the older man would not look. “It does not surprise me that you entertain attractive women, Carpathia. It might surprise the voters, however.”

Carpathia feigned his most curious look. “The voters? I do not understand, Emil. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if you do not pull out of the race within forty-eight hours, that photograph goes to the media.”

“But, Emil, surely you know I have the same shots. My entrance is thoroughly blanketed by security cameras twenty-four hours a day.”

“So?”

“Perhaps my shots are clearer? Perhaps mine will make it obvious who the young lady is. She does look familiar; does she not?”

He tapped the picture, and Tismaneanu finally looked at it. Carpathia basked in the gradual recognition that came over the man’s face. He stood, pale and shaking. “I’ll kill you, Carpathia,” he said.

Nicolae stood and turned to reach for two buttons on the wall. One silently summoned his security staff. The other started a microchip recorder playback with Emil Tismaneanu’s threat in high fidelity.

“Someone is going to shockingly withdraw from this race,” Nicolae said. “I wonder which of us it will be.”

Emil lunged for him, just as Nicolae’s bodyguards burst through the door to pull the older man away.