Traynor was first to arrive for his luncheon meeting. After ordering a dry martini, he scanned the beam-ceilinged room. As usual of late, he’d been given the best table in the house, one in a cozy bay with a particularly dramatic view of the Roaring River which raced past the rear of the inn. Traynor’s pleasure was enhanced when he saw Jeb Wiggins, his old rival and a scion of one of the few old moneyed families of Bartlet, sitting at a far less conspicuous table. Jeb had always treated Traynor with condescension. Traynor’s father had worked in the coat-hanger factory, which at that time had been one of the Wigginses’ holdings. Traynor relished the role reversal: now he was running the biggest business in town.
Helen Beaton and Barton Sherwood arrived together. “Sorry we’re late,” Sherwood said, holding back Beaton’s chair.
Beaton and Sherwood were served their usual drinks and they all ordered their meals. As soon as the waiter left them, Beaton spoke: “I have some good news. I met with Charles Kelley this morning, and he has no problem with our idea of instituting a bonus program for the CMV doctors. His only concern is whether it would cost CMV anything, which it won’t. He promised to run the idea past his bosses, but I don’t anticipate any problem.”
“Wonderful,” Traynor said.
“We’ll be meeting again on Monday,” Beaton added. “I’d like you to attend if you have the time.”
“By all means,” Traynor said.
“Now all we need is the start-up capital,” Beaton said. “So I met with Barton and I think we have it solved.” Beaton gave Sherwood’s arm a squeeze.
Sherwood leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones: “Remember that small slush fund we’d created with the kickbacks from the construction on the radiotherapy building? I’d deposited it in the Bahamas. What I’ll do is bring it back in small increments as needed. Also we can use some of it for vacations in the Bahamas. That’s the easiest. We can even pay for the air tickets in the Bahamas.”
The food arrived and no one spoke until the waitress had departed.
“We thought a vacation in the Bahamas could function as a grand prize,” Beaton explained. “It could be awarded to the doctor with the lowest hospitalization percentage for the year.”
“That’s perfect,” Traynor said. “This whole idea is sounding better and better.”
“We’d better get it up and running ASAP,” Beaton said. “So far the May figures are worse than those for April. Admissions are higher and the money loss correspondingly greater.”
“I have some good news,” Sherwood said. “The hospital sinking fund is back to its projected level with the infusion of the cash from the insurance bequest. It was done in a way that none of the bond examiners will ever detect.”
“It’s just one crisis after another,” Traynor complained. He wasn’t about to give Sherwood credit for fixing a problem he’d created.
“Do you want me to go ahead with the bond issue for the parking garage?” Sherwood asked.
“No,” Traynor answered. “Unfortunately, we can’t. We have to go back to the Board of Selectmen for another vote. Their approval had been contingent on starting the project immediately.” With a scornful expression Traynor gestured with his head toward a neighboring table. “The Selectmen’s chairman, Jeb Wiggins, thinks the tourist season might get screwed up if we build during the summer.”
“How unfortunate,” Sherwood said.
“I’ve got a bit of good news myself,” Traynor added. “I just heard this morning that our CON for open-heart surgery has been turned down for this year. Isn’t that terrible?”
“Oh, what a tragedy,” Beaton said with a laugh. “Thank God!”
After the coffee had been served, Traynor remembered the call from Tom Baringer. He relayed the information on to Beaton.
“I’m already aware of Mr. Baringer’s admission,” Beaton said. “Some time ago I programmed a tickler file into the computer to alert me when such a patient is hospitalized. I’ve already spoken to Caldwell and he’ll be taking care to be sure Mr. Baringer gets proper VIP treatment. What’s the value of the fund?”
“One million,” Traynor said. “It’s not huge, but nothing to scoff at.”