“Congratulations, Harry.” The same warm, sincere voice. “Number one again. William Warwick becomes more popular with every book, and having read Babakov’s revelations that Khrushchev had a hand in killing Stalin, I can’t wait to publish Uncle Joe. I’m confident that book is also heading for the top spot, albeit on the nonfiction list.”
“It’s a truly amazing work,” replied Harry. “I only wish I’d written it.”
“I suspect you did write a great deal of it,” said Aaron, “because I detect your hand on almost every page.” He looked questioningly at Harry.
“Every word is Anatoly’s. I am nothing more than his faithful scribe.”
“If that’s the way you want to play it, that’s fine by me. However, your most ardent fans just might notice your style and phraseology creeping in from time to time.”
“Then we’ll both have to stick to the same hymn sheet, won’t we?”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” said Harry firmly.
Aaron nodded. “I’ve drawn up a contract for Uncle Joe which will require Mrs. Babakova’s signature as her husband’s representative. I’m willing to offer her a one-hundred-thousand-dollar advance on signing, against a ten percent royalty.”
“How many copies do you think you’ll sell?”
“A million, possibly more.”
“Then I want the royalty to rise to twelve and a half percent after the first hundred thousand sales, and fifteen percent once you’ve sold a quarter of a million.”
“I’ve never given such good terms for a first book,” protested Aaron.
“This isn’t a first book, it’s a last book, a one-off, a one and only book.”
“I accept your terms,” said Aaron, “but on one condition.” Harry waited. “When the book is published, you’ll do an author tour, because the public will be fascinated to know how you managed to smuggle the manuscript out of the Soviet Union.”
Harry nodded, and the two men stood up and shook hands. Something else Aaron had in common with his father: a handshake was quite enough to show that the deal had been closed. In a Guinzburg contract, there were no get-out clauses.
“And while you’re over here, I need to finalize a new three-book contract for the William Warwick series.”
“On the same terms as Babakov,” said Harry.
“Why, will he be writing those as well?”
Both men laughed, before shaking hands a second time.
“Who’s publishing Uncle Joe in England?” asked Aaron, as he sat back down.
“Billy Collins. We closed the deal last week.”
“Same terms?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Mind you, when I get home he’s certain to ask me the same question.”
“And he’ll get the same reply, no doubt. Now, Harry, your timing couldn’t be better, because I need to speak to you on another subject in the strictest confidence.”
Harry leaned back in his chair.
“I’ve always wanted Viking to merge with an appropriate paperback house, so I don’t have to make separate deals the whole time. Several other companies have already gone down that road, as I’m sure you know.”
“But if I remember correctly, your father was always against the idea. He feared it would stifle his independence.”
“And he still feels that way. But he’s no longer chairman, and I’ve decided it’s time to move up a gear. I’ve recently been offered an attractive deal by Rex Mulberry of Mulberry House.”
“‘The old order changeth, yielding place to new.’”
“Remind me.”
“Tennyson, Morte d’Arthur.”
“So, are you prepared to yield to new?”
“Although I don’t know Rex Mulberry, I’ll happily back your judgment,” said Harry.
“Good. Then I’ll have both contracts drawn up immediately. If you can get Mrs. Babakova to sign hers, I’ll have yours ready by the time you get back from Pittsburgh.”
“She’ll probably resist taking an advance payment, or even royalties, so I’ll just have to remind her that the last thing Anatoly said before they dragged him off was ‘Make sure Yelena doesn’t have to spend the rest of her life in a different kind of prison.’”
“That should do the trick.”
“Possibly. But I know she still considers it nothing less than her duty to suffer the same deprivation her husband is experiencing.”
“Then you must explain to her that we can’t publish the book if she doesn’t sign the contract.”
“She will sign the contract, but only because she wants the whole world to know the truth about Joseph Stalin. I’m not convinced she’ll ever cash the check.”
“Try deploying that irresistible Clifton charm.” Aaron rose from behind his desk. “Lunch?”
“The Yale Club?”
“Certainly not. Pa still eats there every day, and I don’t want him to find out what I’m up to.”
Harry rarely read the business section of any newspaper, but today he made an exception. The New York Times had devoted half a page to the merger between the Viking Press and Mulberry House, alongside a photograph of Aaron shaking hands with Rex Mulberry.
Viking would have 34 percent of the new company, while Mulberry, a far bigger house, would control 66 percent. When the Times asked Aaron how his father felt about the deal, he simply replied, “Curtis Mulberry and my father have been close friends for many years. I am delighted to have formed a partnership with his son, and look forward to an equally long and fruitful relationship.”
“Hear, hear, to that,” said Harry, as a dining car waiter poured him a second cup of coffee. He glanced out of the window to see the skyscrapers of Manhattan becoming smaller and smaller as the train continued on its journey to Pittsburgh.
Harry sat back, closed his eyes and thought about his meeting with Yelena Babakova. He just hoped she would fall in with her husband’s wishes. He tried to recall Anatoly’s exact words.
Aaron Guinzburg had risen early, excited by the prospect of his first day as deputy chairman of the new company.
“Viking Mulberry,” he murmured into the shaving mirror. He liked the billing.
His first meeting that day was scheduled for twelve o’clock, when Harry would report back on his visit with Mrs. Babakova. He planned to publish Uncle Joe in April, and was delighted that Harry had agreed to go on tour. After a light breakfast — toast and Oxford Marmalade, a three-and-a-half-minute boiled egg and a cup of Earl Grey tea — Aaron read the article in the New York Times for a second time. He felt it was a fair reflection of his agreement with Rex Mulberry and was pleased to see his new partner repeating something he’d said to Aaron many times: I am proud to be joining a house with such a fine literary tradition.
As it was a clear, crisp morning, Aaron decided to walk to work and savor the thought of starting life anew. He wondered how long it would be before his father admitted he’d made the right decision if the company were to play in the major leagues. He crossed the road onto Seventh Avenue, his smile broadening with each step he took. As he walked toward the familiar building he noticed two smartly dressed doormen standing at the entrance. Not an expense his father would have approved of. One of the men stepped forward and saluted.