Keep Calm Page 4

  “The people here at the company are excited to have you, Adam. I’ve been instructed to make you plenty comfortable. We’ve got you at the Millennium right there in Mayfair, on Grosvenor Square. You couldn’t do better. We’ve got two interns with two people movers out at the arrivals curb. One of us will go with the luggage and the helpers, and the other will go with Kate and the kids. Makes no difference to me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Gordon. I’ll go with the luggage. You can ride with Kate and the kids.”

  Gordon didn’t waste a breath signing off on that version of the plan. “Classic idea! Like the way you’re thinking. Let’s put a move on.”

  * * *

  SOMEWHERE AROUND THE time the two Heaton Global–owned Mercedes vans snaked their way off the highway, as the A4 became Cromwell Road, Gordon decided he had wrung all of the conversation it was possible to get out of an eight-year-old and a seventeen-year-old and let it lie, making a conscious decision to give them the peace to lose themselves to their own thoughts. In Trudy’s case, that meant her iPad. Billy sat happily up on his lap, looking out the window to fresh shapes, colors, and images of the brand-new world of London floating by. They passed the museums on Cromwell Road, and the busy mansion flats once they made it to Brompton Road. Gordon pointed out Harrods, the world-famous department store.

  Gordon and Kate had a nice chat as they circled around Hyde Park Corner. He reminded her of visits to the park as a little girl that she had no recollection of. It felt good to see him. Though he may have been making all of these little anecdotes up as far as Kate knew, if he was, she didn’t mind. She liked the detail he was giving each little story. She thought he was being sweet; she wanted to enjoy it, regardless of the level of veracity.

  It was as they came into Mayfair, up Park Lane, that he hit his first sour note.

  “Have you heard from Richard Lyle, Kate? I see him a bit, you know? He calls now and then. In fact, we met up for breakfast in a little café off of Hanover Square not long ago. I told him you were coming round.”

  He checked her eyes for traces of sentiment from the time he mentioned Richard’s name. The fact that he did it, the amount of energy he was putting into a search for emotion, agitated her in a way that he probably didn’t imagine it would. She just stared at him—for several blocks, it seemed.

  “What’s wrong, doll? Have I upset you?” She clocked her peripheral view to make sure that the kids weren’t focused in on the dialogue, and then she finally answered.

  “No. All you’ve done is to confirm to me that you haven’t changed in the slightest.”

  “Don’t be that way. I was being nice.”

  “I’m sure on some level you believe that, Daddy. But the truth is you are not being nice at all when you play a game like that. Not in the state that you know we’re in at this point in my life. My marriage.”

  “I was just saying that Richard was doing well, I thought…”

  “I know what you thought, Daddy. It’s clear. Don’t you think I’m smart enough to know why you’re asking?”

  The van pulled up Brook Street to the south side of Grosvenor Square and to the front door of the Millennium, just east of the former American embassy. The trip in from Heathrow was over, and so was the conversation.

  As Adam hopped out of the other coach with the bags and the HGI interns, Kate made a point to give her husband a sweet kiss and take in the view of the “American Square” in front of the hotel with him. He gladly took her hand and just as sweetly led the children and her inside the charming flag-draped brick building that looked more like an embassy than the now-closed American embassy on the far side of the square ever had. Gordon dutifully followed along behind the helpers, bellboys, and baggage carts.

  * * *

  INSIDE, AS THEY checked in, Trudy saw a young French boy, also at the counter, who was with his mother, a woman who Gordon said was part of the Heaton Global delegation going to Number 10 later in the week. Adam and Kate both slyly watched as Trudy and the very handsome boy flirted briefly in the reception line. They caught each other watching and quietly laughed together about their little girl. It never took Trudy long to rebound. It was a good sign, Adam thought; maybe this trip would help things get back to normal for all of them.

  As they settled into their two-bedroom suite, Adam got a call that Sir David would like to say hello. It was surprising, to be sure, but the HGI representative on the phone said that Heaton wanted Adam to walk a block over toward Berkeley Square and have a drink with him in the hotel bar at the Connaught.

  Gordon was waiting to meet him in the lobby of the Millennium, having already known of the summons. Adam was wearing a rumpled sweater and blue jeans, looking like he’d just flown across the world. Gordon took one look at him and immediately sent him right back up to his room.

  “You put a jacket and tie on when you see this man, son. I’m not sure what’s on your mind, but this is the first thing you need to do.”

  Adam reluctantly went back up to change. Kate got a kick out of it, thought it was cute that Adam hadn’t expected that reaction. Once appropriately attired, he reunited with Gordon downstairs and they walked the short block over to the Connaught together. Gordon left him at the front door and waited on the sidewalk.

  “I think it’s best for you to see him alone. I’m sure it’s what he has on his mind.”

  “What is this about, Gordon? I mean, there’s something like, what, eight, ten people on the delegation? Why does he want to see me, the one who knows next to nothing about the business?”

  “You’re asking the wrong fellow, sport. I never know why this fellow does a damn thing. Never have. Known him my whole life, haven’t figured him out yet. I just know he’s keen for a sit-down, so get in there and shine up your smile. That’s good advice I’m giving you.”

  Adam silently agreed, turned, and made his way into the hotel’s stately lobby.

  The Connaught, named after Queen Victoria’s seventh child, Arthur, the Duke of Connaught, is a princely building seated proudly in the middle of an open-air courtyard formed by the merging of Carlos Place and Mount Street smack in the middle of Mayfair. Churchill, de Gaulle, and Eisenhower often had dinner in the Connaught’s wood-paneled dining room during World War II. What it had become in the present day was a throwback, a holdout, a high-end watering hole and world-class “five star” for the Mayfair-bound jet set.

  Sir David Heaton was waiting alone at a table for five in the crowded, smoky bar. He was dressed immaculately: a Kiton K-5 bespoke suit, shoes that glistened as if they were diamonds, and fingernails that were smoothed and polished on a regular basis. Sir David was a good-looking man who had put a lot of time, energy, and money into his appearance. He was smoking a long, thick Cohiba cigar, sipping a fifty-year-old Glenfiddich. He knew Adam the minute he walked in. He stood and offered his hand with a big, ruddy, open smile.

  “Adam Tatum. It’s a pleasure to meet you, boy. Sincerely. Have a seat here, and let me order you up a scotch.”

  Adam hadn’t been drinking. It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed to. It wasn’t one of the several stipulations on the settlement of his court case back in Michigan, but it was more or less a promise that he had made to Kate that he was trying his best to keep. Still, this was Sir David Heaton. There was no way he was going to turn him down, so he accepted.

  “I hear good things about you, Tatum. From the Chicago office. What’s your man’s name there? Your department head?”

  “Saffron. Barry Saffron.”

  “Right. Says you can close a deal, Tatum. Is that true?”

  “It is, sir, so far, I guess.” Adam answered him, nervously. This was just the way Heaton wanted him answering him. Everything about Heaton’s game was to make you nervous talking to him. He liked a man to be careful with his words around him, liked his employees always just a little bit off stride.

  “Well, we have a very, very big deal here within our grasp now, Tatum. We’re gonna need all the help we can get to close
it.”

  Adam’s drink came. It quickly became a second and a cigar was soon lit for him. Heaton comically told Adam stories of his life, of his years in business, of his father the wealthy banker and MP in Parliament, of his uncle Edmund Heaton, the former home secretary, of his own time as a member of Parliament representing Hampstead and Highgate, his years as a minister for the European Union, and a brief synopsis of how he then went back into business and built Heaton Global Investments. Of how he almost single-handedly turned it into the largest retirement services organization in the world.

  “At any one time we are investing the pension funds for over two thousand organizations and one hundred thousand private individuals, for a grand total of over two hundred ten billion dollars. That’s much more than bags of bauble, Tatum. Am I right?”

  As Adam’s third scotch was brought over, as Heaton lit a second Churchill-sized cigar, he easily signaled for his fourth or even fifth drink. He was a famous man, David Heaton, with a well-documented, outsized appetite for life. Aside from Heaton Global he also owned an airline, a movie theater chain, and several large five-star hotel lines. In fact, he owned the Connaught. He dated models, film stars, and other business magnates—powerful women. He had even, for a short time, years back, dated Georgia Turnbull, the chancellor.

  Sir David was confident and cocksure. He was as warm as each situation needed him to be, yet there was also a darkness about Heaton, a mysteriously mischievous cloud above him that Adam could see from afar while reading about him in magazine profiles. An evil glint to his eyes that in person was even more identifiable.

  “Tell me about you, Adam. I want to know everything. About your growing up outside of Detroit, your days as a police officer in Ann Arbor … and I want to know about this trouble you got yourself into two years ago. It interests me. I’ve googled up on it, just as I’m sure you’ve googled up on me. Gordon has filled me in on the big strokes, but I wonder about the details. I want the ‘behind the scenes.’”

  Adam sat there for a while, puffed on his cigar, and stared at Heaton, not the least bit nervous at this point. The scotch had settled in his belly; the strong Cuban nicotine had calmed and soothed his mind; the smell of the pretty women’s perfume that floated through the air from the surrounding tables was giving his spirit a gentle lift. He leaned in closer to Heaton—his new friend. He got inches from his face and declared quietly, but boldly: “I fucked up. Big time.”

  Heaton let out a bellow of a laugh and whisked an ash from his finely clad knee. “I bet you did. From what I’ve heard it was a doozy. Tell me about it.”

  “I lost everything. Every penny I had in the world. I lost my home, my job, and my friends. More important, I almost lost my wife.” He leaned back now, puffed the cigar again, hit the scotch. “I got carried away, David. Carried away by political forces, bigger than I was. Bigger by far. A moment in time, the music of the mob. It just happened. I wasn’t a political man. That’s important to know. Very key to it all. I was a union man, to a point. Had union men in my family. Union in my blood. Always sided with the worker, but the sad truth, why I did what I did, was that I got whipped up by the crowd. Taken by a passion for what I thought was right. We were liquored up, and we thought we had come upon an easy answer to a complicated problem. I wish I had a better story than that. I wish my motives were more intelligible, but they weren’t. I was playing a bit part, but I played it to the hilt. Does that make any sense?”

  Heaton leaned in, put his arm on the shoulder of his new drinking buddy, and got right into his face now.

  “It doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense, Tatum. Not one single ounce of it. But let me tell you something else.” He flashed his brightest smile now. “I like you. I like you a lot.” With that, he started laughing, a big, throaty, arm-slapping gust of mirth. As the laugh subsided, he gently slapped Adam on the side of the face and ordered them each another round.

  * * *

  GORDON WAS WAITING outside of the Connaught when his son-in-law finally stumbled out. It was a solid four hours later. Adam was surprised to see the old man, rigidly standing there on duty as if he were Heaton’s own portable porch jockey.

  “You’re still here?” His speech was slurred, his voice scratchy from three very strong cigars.

  “I’m on until he hits the pillow and even after that. C’mon, let’s get you over to the Millennium so I can get back here again before he leaves.”

  “Are you his driver, Gordon?”

  “No, of course not. He has a driver.”

  “Are you his bodyguard?”

  “Not me. He has a team of them. Two of them were in the bar watching you all night. I’m surprised you didn’t notice ’em.”

  Adam had in fact spotted two men in cheap, well-worn suits at the bar all night long. He had realized through the course of the night that they were watching Heaton and him quite a bit. He figured them for off-duty cops, maybe hotel security.

  “So what are you, then, Gordon? What do you do for Heaton?”

  “I’m a helper. I assist with whatever he needs help with. Sometimes I look after his house; sometimes I’m up at his farm feeding the dogs. Tonight he wanted to get to know you better. I helped. It seems to me you two got along nicely.”

  “Yeah, we did get along. But why? I can’t figure it out. I mean, at first, I thought it was all about you. You making it happen, doing this for Kate. But it isn’t, is it, Gordon? This isn’t coming from you, is it?”

  Gordon looked into his eyes and came to the conclusion that Adam was too drunk and worn out to go into any detail tonight. There was explaining to do, but not at the end of a day this long. He did his best to put both the subject and Adam to bed.

  “Let me just say that dealing with Sir David can be tricky. It takes a strong sense of self-navigation. But if you stay sharp, if you come out on top here, with what he has in store for you, you’ll be a well-taken-care-of man. Understood?”

  “No. Gordon, no. I don’t understand a thing about any of this. Seriously? What does he ‘have in store’ for me? None of it makes any sense.”

  “Then maybe that’s best, lad.” They had arrived back at the Millennium. “Go on; go upstairs to your family. There’ll be time to fill you in.”

  The two men said good night and Gordon headed back to meet his mercurial boss at the Connaught.

  * * *

  IN THE MORNING, Adam had a serious hangover. Luckily he more or less got away with blaming it on jet lag. Kate and the kids were on Chicago time and were wide-awake at five a.m. They wanted Adam to come look at the view over Grosvenor Square, out onto the FDR statue and the 9/11 memorial. The bright morning light thundered in when Kate threw the curtains open, slapping him wide-awake, as if it were a jolt of electricity.

  Later in the day, when he finally woke, he called the only person he knew in London to tell him they were in town and to make dinner plans. Beauregard McCalister and his wife, Tiffany, were Kate and Adam’s good friends from Michigan. A London boy born and bred, Beauregard, a movie producer, had lived in Michigan several years back when the state had a hefty tax incentive. He filmed his movies, mostly Colin Firth–type, frilly necked, Jane Austen–era stuff, out in Pontiac at the Michigan Motion Pictures Studios, which is where they met when Adam was working construction at the facility.

  Adam and Kate had loved to spend time with Beau and Tiffany when they were all in Michigan. They had other friends, but none that were as cozy a fit as the McCalisters, and ever since Adam’s criminal adventures, most of their “friends” weren’t all that high on dinners out. In fact, even when they got to Chicago, they had found themselves with no social life.

  It was for this reason that Adam and Kate both were excited to reconnect with the McCalisters and their kids. When Adam had called, he was greeted with nothing but excitement. Beau and Tiffany were well aware of Adam’s recent adventures in severe felony, but it wasn’t in their nature to judge people harshly for mistakes they had made. They were true friends. A prom
ise was made to get together. It was one of the first times in a long time that Adam had seen Kate smile.

  * * *

  WITH HIS WIFE and kids on a double-decker bus tour of London, Adam spent the afternoon pulling himself together. Late that afternoon Adam, Kate, and their kids had a meal with Gordon at the Millennium’s restaurant. Trudy and the handsome French boy had met once again in an elevator and headed down and into the lobby together, giving them the opportunity to have their first conversation. Trudy was happy to learn that he spoke almost perfect, if somewhat broken, English, and was already wondering how that would be—for her to marry a Frenchman. Where would they live? What would their kids be, French? English? Once again, the only thing Adam and Kate could do was stifle their laughter.

  After the early dinner, the family, and Gordon, all walked over to Hyde Park, to the Serpentine. Gordon played with Billy as the boy chased a flock of geese to the point where he almost ran into the water. When the sun went down, at not yet seven p.m., the family was exhausted, their bodies’ clocks still playing tricks on them, so they headed back to Grosvenor Square, said good night to “Poppa,” and went back to their room. Trudy and Billy were in bed by eight.

  Kate was in as good a mood as she’d been in years. She took a long shower and came out to the bedroom smelling like a warm blast of spring air. Adam thought it was going to be a nice night. She had that glint in her eyes and was paying that telltale level of attention to him that she did on nights when the drawbridge was down, laughing at everything he said. Kate got into bed next to Adam. He kissed her softly and rolled on top of her as she wrapped her pajama legs around his bearlike body.

  The hotel phone rang. It had that European clang to it. It didn’t ring like a hotel phone rings in America—it was more mechanical, more staid, one grinding obnoxious blast after another. Another representative from HGI was on the line. Sir David and the others in the delegation were downstairs in two limos, waiting for Adam to come down and join them for “dinner and drinks.”