“What do you know about him?”
Ken Bailey flopped into a chair across from Jennifer and steepled his fingers together. “Let me see. He’s a partner in Needham, Finch, Pierce and Warner; Harvard Law School; comes from a rich socialite family; in his middle thirties—”
Jennifer looked at him curiously. “How do you know so much about him?”
He winked. “I have friends in high places. There’s a rumor they’re going to run Mr. Warner for the United States Senate. There’s even a little presidential ground swell going on. He’s got what they call charisma.”
He certainly has, Jennifer thought. She tried to make her next question sound casual. “What about his personal life?”
Ken Bailey looked at her oddly. “He’s married to the daughter of an ex-Secretary of the Navy. She’s the niece of Stewart Needham, Warner’s law partner.”
Jennifer’s heart sank. So that was that.
Ken was watching her, puzzled. “Why this sudden interest in Adam Warner?”
“Just curious.”
Long after Ken Bailey had left, Jennifer sat there thinking about Adam. He asked me to dinner as a professional courtesy. He wants to congratulate me. But he’s already done that over the telephone. Who cares why? I’m going to see him again. I wonder whether he’ll remember to mention he has a wife. Of course not. Well, I’ll have dinner with Adam on Friday night and that will be the end of that.
Late that afternoon, Jennifer received a telephone call from Peabody & Peabody. It was from the senior partner himself.
“I’ve been meaning to get around to this for some time,” he said. “I wondered if you and I might have lunch soon.”
His casual tone did not deceive Jennifer. She was sure the idea of having lunch with her had not occurred to him until after he had read about the Abraham Wilson decision. He certainly did not want to meet with her to discuss serving subpoenas.
“What about tomorrow?” he suggested. “My club.”
They met for lunch the following day. The senior Peabody was a pale, prissy man, an older version of his son. His vest failed to conceal a slight paunch. Jennifer liked the father just as little as she had liked the son.
“We have an opening for a bright young trial attorney in our firm, Miss Parker. We can offer you fifteen thousand dollars a year to start with.”
Jennifer sat there listening to him, thinking how much that offer would have meant to her a year earlier when she had desperately needed a job, needed someone who believed in her.
He was saying, “I’m sure that within a few years there would be room for a partnership for you in our firm.”
Fifteen thousand dollars a year and a partnership. Jennifer thought about the little office she shared with Ken, and her tiny, shabby four-flight walk-up apartment with its fake fireplace.
Mr. Peabody was taking her silence for acquiescence. “Good. We’d like you to begin as soon as possible. Perhaps you could start Monday. I—”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, if Monday’s not convenient for you—”
“I mean, no, I can’t take your offer, Mr. Peabody,” Jennifer said, and amazed herself.
“I see.” There was a pause. “Perhaps we could start you at twenty thousand dollars a year.” He saw the expression on her face. “Or twenty-five thousand. Why don’t you think it over?”
“I’ve thought it over. I’m going to stay in business for myself.”
The clients were beginning to come. Not a great many and not very affluent, but they were clients. The office was becoming too small for her.
One morning after Jennifer had kept two clients waiting outside in the hallway while she was dealing with a third, Ken said, “This isn’t going to work. You’re going to have to move out of here and get yourself a decent office uptown.”
Jennifer nodded. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it.”
Ken busied himself with some papers so that he did not have to meet her eyes. “I’ll miss you.”
“What are you talking about? You have to go with me.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. He looked up and a broad grin creased his freckled face.