"SWell, But the car will be parked at the hotel, so why don't I plan on picking you up?"
"I'll give you a call."
5
LAWRENCE GORE, PRESIDENT OF THE BARNARD'S CROSSING Trust Company., smiled appreciatively as Mollv Mandell, his secretary, his executive secretary he would say, entered his office, a sheaf of papers in her hand, she was so brisk and efficient, so interested and willing, so sympathetic and understanding, that it was a pleasure to have her around.
An attractive woman of thirty, she was neat and tidy in her navy blue suit, her wavy brown hair was cut short and brushed back from her wide forehead, she had large dark eyes that were eager and alive, she had a no-nonsense mouth and a rounded chin which emphasized the oval of her face, and she was small, he liked small women because he himself was so cruelly short. Sitting behind his desk, his body visible only from the waist up, he seemed a large man, the long, narrow head with its thick blond hair and keen blue eyes was supported by a muscular neck rising from wide shoulders. It was something of a surprise when he rose and one saw that he was only a couple of inches more than five feet tall.
His eyes focused on the large plastic button pinned to her blouse. On it, in bold letters, was printed Women's Lib.
"Something new in costume jewelry, Molly?"
A sidelong glance at her bosom. "Oh, the state legislature is debating the Equal Rights amendment, the girls are wearing these to remind them where the votes are." She placed the papers on the desk before him, and then taking the visitor's chair, she watched him read the letters she had composed and typed for his signature.
Teetering gently in his swivel chair, he read each in turn carefully, and then as he reached for his pen, he said. "These are exactly right, Molly. You got just the tone I wanted."
"You mean the ones about the silver? Well, I don't have the same appreciation for Peter Archer silver that you have, of course, but I think the idea of the exhibition at the Boston Art Museum is wonderful, and I think it's doing the bank a lot of good, too."
"Think so? How about the display out front?" he asked. "Are people taking notice?"
"Oh sure. It's been getting a lot of attention." She flipped pages in her notebook. "A Mr. Dalrymple asked me if you'd be interested in looking at a vinegar cruet he has.
He's not a depositor, he just came in because he heard you had some pieces on exhibit in the bank."
"A vinegar cruet, eh? Yeah, We've got about half a dozen so far, but if he has a real good one, I'd like to see it."
"I'll get in touch with him, and Mrs. Gore called, she asked if she could have her check earlier this month, she's going down to Florida to visit her brother. I said it would probably be all right."
He nodded curtly.
"Nancy asked if she could have Friday off. I told her we'd be shorthanded because Pauline wasn't due back until Monday."
"Quite right."
"She was a little put out."
"She'll get over it, I expect."
She closed her notebook. "Henry Maltzman was in to make a deposit, and he asked me what action we were taking on his request for a loan."
"What did you tell him?" he asked quickly. "Just that I'd mention it to you."
He tapped the desktop with his fingers. "Graham says it's out of line with his statement."
"Graham is a Scotchman,” she said scornfully. "He always says the loans are too big. If it depended entirely on him, we'd never make any."
He chuckled. "You've got a point there."
"And Henry Maltzman has been a good friend of the bank, he's touted a lot of business our way," she went on.
"You're right,” he said. "One hand washes the other. If he should come in again today, tell him you think it's all right. Don't tell him I said so, because I don't want him to think it's official just in case the loan committee takes the bit in its teeth and decides to overrule me. But you can kind of hint—well, you'll know what to tell him."
"I'll manage,” she said confidently.
"I'm sure you will, and now is there anything else?"
"You asked me to remind you of the Jordon report,” she said coldly.
He noted the abrupt change in her manner and thought he knew the reason for it and was sympathetic. "Has he said anything—uh—nasty to you?"
"Oh, it's not what he says. It's just that—he's a dirty old man."
He was shocked. "You mean he—uh—made a pass at you?"
"I mean he brushes up against me, touches
me—accidentally on purpose. Is he very important to the
bank?"
"Just our biggest account and a director."
"Well, one day you're going to lose him—or me."
"Maybe if I talked to him—"
She laughed. "Don't bother. I can take care of him. I stood for much worse when I was working in Boston and riding the subway every day."
He grinned. "I can imagine, well, try to stay out of his way, and now, how about the Cavendish report?"
"I was planning on working on it all day tomorrow."
"Hm." He drummed a rapid tattoo on the desktop with his fingertips. "He called earlier and said he was coming in around noon tomorrow and asked if he could go over it with me at lunch."
"I could take it home and work on it tonight," she suggested.
"Could you? Gee, that would be sWell, You're sure your husband wouldn't mind? How is he, by the way?"
"Herb's fine, he won't mind, he's going to a meeting of the executive of the temple Brotherhood tonight anyway." She laughed. "It's my mother-in-law who might object."
"Really? Why should she object?"
"Oh, she objects to anything I do,” she said lightly. "From her point of view, all my time outside of work belongs to her precious son, even if he's not there." She sat back and went on conversationally, "What really burns her up is seeing Herb setting the table and starting dinner. But he gets home from school at three o'clock, and I don't get home until a couple of hours later, he doesn't mind, but it burns her up."
"I suppose he has papers to correct, lessons to prepare?"
"He does it all in his free periods and study periods. It will be all right."
"Well, I sure appreciate it, and look, you can take time off in exchange."
"Oh, there's no need, really." She hesitated. "But next Wednesday there is a meeting and—"
"And you'd like to go. Plan on it. Take the afternoon off. Take the whole day off if you like."
There was a timid knock on the door.
"Come in,” he called out, and the receptionist, a young girl with a ponytail and wide innocent eyes, sidled in, shutting the door firmly behind her.
"Oh, Mr. Gore, there's a man out there who's just hangina around. I asked him if I could help him, and he said, no, that he just wanted to look around. I mean there's nothing to see in a bank—"
"Maybe he came in to look at the Peter Archer silver." Gore suggested.
"No, he just glanced at it."
"He may be a dealer. Elsie, they don't like to appear interested."
"Well, I thought where there was that bank robbery over in Scoville—"
"You thought he might be casing the joint?" He laughed. "What's he look like?"
"Well, he's an older man. I mean his hair is like gray—."
Molly had risen and opening the door had craned forward, the better to see into the lobby, she came back and with suppressed excitement said. "I think I know who it is. Larry, there was a picture of him the other day in the Boston Jewish News that my mother-in-law subscribes to. It's Ben Segal of the Segal Group of Chicago, the ones that are taking over the Rohrbough Corporation."
"You think so?" He got out from behind his desk and went to the door. Over his shoulder, he said. "There was a picture of him in Business Week a month or a month and a half ago. See if you can find it in that pile on the table."