I still couldn’t make up my mind, so he tried another tack.
“Back then, when we first met,” he said, “I remember you gave me a little sermon on the failings of the mining industry, with its pollution of nature and destruction of cultures. If you took this job, you’d have the opportunity to do something about those things — at the very least by providing machines that do the minimum damage.”
WHILE I WAS THINKING about that, he got up out of the armchair and went to the window, puffing at his cigar, looking out onto the lawn. I looked out too — it was getting dark now. Bats, or maybe small birds, flickered in and out of existence in the light cast by the window.
After a while, he turned to face me and I sensed he was about to play what he hoped would be his strongest card.
“Alicia’s a great girl,” he said. “Her mother died just after giving birth to her and her brother. He was stillborn and that made Alicia’s birth very difficult. I’ve never told anyone about this, but did you notice the blemish on her cheek? It was damaged getting her out of the womb and it’s never quite cleared up. She’s very conscious of it and adjusts her hair to cover the mark.”
I was a little embarrassed at how he was confiding in me. I pretended, of course, that I hadn’t noticed any blemish. He had more to say, however.
“I never remarried but tried to be both father and mother to Alicia,” he said. “I’m very proud of how she’s turned out. As you can guess, over the years, a number of men have wanted to marry her.” He paused a moment. “We didn’t approve of any of them.”
I couldn’t help but notice the “we.”
He now sat down opposite me and, as he talked, his eyes glinted like one of those jungle hawks when it’s about to strike its target. Indeed, that was how he seemed to me: outwardly a scrawny creature, but with startling energy when focused on his prey. What nimbleness and willpower it would take for me to counter him. If, that is, I’d even wanted to counter him. He hadn’t said outright that he wanted me to be the husband of his beloved daughter, but I’d no doubt about it.
What a temptation his implied offer was to one whose dreams were still haunted by the slums and oppressiveness of the Tollgate. The job might not be ideal, but if I accepted, I could travel the world, I’d live in comparative luxury for the rest of my life — and I’d have Alicia. Not long ago the idea of such treachery, such a betrayal of the memory of my love for Miriam on such mercenary considerations, would have been quite unthinkable. But, after all, wasn’t it Miriam who’d broken my heart? Was I to mourn the loss of her forever? Alicia certainly was beautiful— might I not, in time, fall in love with her?
“Well,” said Gordon Smith. “What do you think of my proposition?”
I came right out with it: yes, I’d really like to give it a try.
His eyes widened momentarily in pleasure, or triumph. He stretched out his thin hand.
“Great!” he said. “I’m delighted. I really am.”
I knew he meant it.
4
For two months following that conversation, Gordon Smith oversaw much of my life. He arranged a work visa for me as well as a furnished apartment. It was on the top floor of a building he owned, overlooking Camberloo Park with its fine old trees and elaborate flower beds.
Most weekdays, wearing one of my newly bought business suits, I’d walk the half mile from my apartment to Gordon’s office in the city square. He or Lew Jonson, his business partner and right-hand man, would coach me in the characteristics of the various types and sizes of the company’s pumps and ventilators.
Some days, we’d go to the factory a few miles west of Camberloo where the machines were assembled from the parts made at various steel foundries. The factory was quite small, with only a dozen skilled employees headed by Jonson. He was a plump, balding engineer and co-designer, with Gordon, of the pumps. As he showed me the various machines, he’d pat them affectionately as though they were dogs. His temperament was of the placid sort and clearly he’d have been unable to take Gordon’s place as a salesman.
My head was soon bursting with unfamiliar terminology: centrifugal and positive displacement, radial, mixed, or axial flow, single and multiple rotors, circumferential pistons, diaphragms and progressive cavities, pneumatic and centrifugal exhaust fans. Gordon Smith assured me that a display of my expertise in the language of our products was the passport to acceptance by future clients. To my surprise, it didn’t take too long for me to understand what the words meant and where the parts they named were located in the machines.
MOST EVENINGS after work, I’d eat in a little steakhouse in Camberloo Square then walk the mile or so back to my apartment and settle down with a book. But once or twice a week, Gordon Smith would bring me home with him for dinner.
Alicia always looked pleased to see me. I soon realized she wasn’t much of a talker — it was as if she’d said most of what she had to say on that day we first met. But I was flattered by the fact that she seemed to enjoy hearing me talk and would listen attentively, nodding her head in such a way that her curtain of hair gave only occasional glimpses of the blemish on her left cheek.
Not that we were alone together very much. Mainly, all three of us would eat dinner, then Gordon and I would adjourn to the library for brandies and cigars and he’d instruct me in the business. When he dealt with the profit-and-loss side of Smith’s Pumps, those eyes looked as though they could shatter glass. But when he talked about the art of selling, the human side of him would dominate and his eyes would soften.
Sometimes, these talks would go on so late that he’d insist I stay overnight in the guest room at the top of the stairs. Indeed, the overnight stays became frequent enough that I even left a change of clothes there. I’d often fall asleep in the guest room thinking of Alicia, who was just a few doors away.
In the mornings, her father and I would have breakfast and be on our way to the office before she was up and about.
ONE NIGHT when we were sitting in the limo on our way to his house for dinner, Gordon told me he’d be leaving for Toronto immediately after we ate.
“I have to catch the overnight train to Montreal,” he said. “I’m having problems with a major supplier there so I’d better go and see what’s going on. I probably won’t be back till tomorrow night, at the earliest. Jonson will keep you busy at the factory. He wants to show you some of the latest components.”
The dinner was pleasant. Gordon was, naturally, somewhat preoccupied. I talked quite a bit and Alicia was, as usual, the perfect listener. When we’d finished eating, we accompanied Gordon out to the limo. He ducked into the back seat and, before closing the door, spoke directly to me.
“Harry, why don’t you stay overnight and keep Alicia company?” he said. “It’ll give you both a chance to talk without me in the way.” He said goodbye to us, shut the door, and the limo took off down the street.
SO, FOR THE FIRST TIME, only Alicia and I went into the library. We sipped brandy and I puffed away at one of the Cuban cigars. Gordon’s parting words had been ambiguous enough to make me feel nervous and uncertain, so the conversation was rather stilted and general. After a while, the maid put her head in for a second to tell us she’d finished tidying up and was on her way home.
Now that we were completely alone in the house I felt even more nervous. To my relief Alicia put on some classical piano music that was being considered for background at the art gallery. We sat listening and smiling approvingly. Around ten, when the music ended, Alicia finished the one small glass of brandy she’d been sipping all along and put it down.