George looked around the little apartment, expertly appraising the value of its contents. “Very pleasant.”
He moved toward Eve, his arms outstretched. “I’ve thought about you every minute.”
She evaded his embrace. “Wait. I have something to tell you, George.”
His black eyes bored into hers. “We’ll talk later.”
“We’ll talk now.” She spoke slowly and distinctly. “If you ever touch me like that again, I’m going to kill you.”
He looked at her, his lips curved in a half smile. “What kind of joke is that?”
“It’s not a joke. I mean it. I have a business proposition for you.”
There was a puzzled expression on his face. “You called me here to discuss business?”
“Yes. I don’t know how much you make conning silly old ladies into buying stocks and bonds, but I’m sure it’s not enough.”
His face went dark with anger. “Are you crazy? My family—”
“Your family is rich—you’re not. My family is rich—I’m not. We’re both in the same leaky rowboat, darling. I know a way we can turn it into a yacht.” She stood there, watching his curiosity get the better of his anger.
“You’d better tell me what you’re talking about.”
“It’s quite simple. I’ve been disinherited from a very large fortune. My sister Alexandra hasn’t.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“If you married Alexandra, that fortune would be yours—ours.”
“Sorry. I could never stand the idea of being tied down to anyone.”
“As it happens,” Eve assured him, “that’s no problem. My sister has always been accident-prone.”
27
Berkley and Mathews Advertising Agency was the diadem in Madison Avenue’s roster of agencies. Its annual billings exceeded the combined billings of its two nearest competitors, chiefly because its major account was Kruger-Brent, Ltd., and its dozens of worldwide subsidiaries. More than seventy-five account executives, copywriters, creative directors, photographers, engravers, artists and media experts were employed on the Kruger-Brent account alone. It came as no surprise, therefore, that when Kate Blackwell telephoned Aaron Berkley to ask him if he could find a position in his agency for Alexandra, a place was found for her instantly. If Kate Blackwell had desired it, they would probably have made Alexandra president of the agency.
“I believe my granddaughter is interested in being a copywriter,” Kate informed Aaron Berkley.
Berkley assured Kate that there just happened to be a copywriter vacancy, and that Alexandra could start any time she wished.
She went to work the following Monday.
Few Madison Avenue advertising agencies are actually located on Madison Avenue, but Berkley and Mathews was an exception. The agency owned a large, modern building at the corner of Madison and Fifty-seventh Street. The agency occupied eight floors of the building and leased the other floors. In order to save a salary, Aaron Berkley and his partner, Norman Mathews, decided Alexandra Blackwell would replace a young copywriter hired six months earlier. The word spread rapidly. When the staff learned the young woman who was fired was being replaced by the granddaughter of the agency’s biggest client, there was general indignation. Without even having met Alexandra, the consensus was that she was a spoiled bitch who had probably been sent there to spy on them.
When Alexandra reported for work, she was escorted to the huge, modern office of Aaron Berkley, where both Berkley and Mathews waited to greet her. The two partners looked nothing alike. Berkley was tall and thin, with a full head of white hair, and Mathews was short, tubby and completely bald. They had two things in common: They were brilliant advertising men who had created some of the most famous slogans of the past decade; and they were absolute tyrants. They treated their employees like chattels, and the only reason the employees stood for such treatment was that anyone who had worked for Berkley and Mathews could work at any advertising agency in the world. It was the training ground.
Also present in the office when Alexandra arrived was Lucas Pinkerton, a vice-president of the firm, a smiling man with an obsequious manner and cold eyes. Pinkerton was younger than the senior partners, but what he lacked in age, he made up for in vindictiveness toward the men and women who worked under him.