we’ll have to this year-I must record it for the Scarlatti records.
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We’ve paid enormous sums all over Europe on your signa-
“But you won’t have to do that for a long time, will you?”
“At the end of the fiscal year, which for the Scarlatti industries is June
thirtieth. The same as the governmenes.”
“Well”-the handsome man sighed as he looked at the agitated Southemer-“on
June thirtieth I’ll just have to stand up and face the music. It won!t be
the first time my family’s been upset. I hope it’s the last.”
As the time approached for Janers delivery, a constant procession of
merchants passed through the doors of the Ulster Scarlett brownstonc A team
of three doctors gave Janet constant attention and her own family saw her
twice a day. What mattered was that the activity kept her occupied. It kept
her mind off a frightening fact. A fact so personal she didn’t know how to
discuss it; there was no one to whom she felt close enough.
Her husband no longer spoke to her.
He had left her bed in her third month of pregnancy. In the south of
France, to be exact. He had refused to have intercourse on the assumption
that her miscarriage had been brought on by sex. She had wanted sex. She
had wanted it desperately. She had wanted his body on hers because it was
the only time she felt close to him. The only time her husband appeared to
her to be without guile, without deceit, without the cold manipulation in
his eyeL But even this was denied her.
Then he left thqir communal room. insisting upon separate rooms wherever
they went.
And now he neither answered her questions nor asked any of his own.
He ignored her.
He was silent.
He was, if she wanted to be honest with herself, contemptuous of her.
He hated her.
Janet Uxon Scarlett. A reasonably intelligent product of Vassar. A graduate
of the Pierre cotillions and a sane habitu6 of the hunt clubs. And always,
always wondering why it was she and not someone else who enjoyed the
privileges she had.
Not that she ever disclaimed them. She didnt. And
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perhaps she was entitled to them. God knew she was a “looker.” Everyone had
said it for as long as she could remember. But she was what her mother
always complained about-an observer.
“You never really enter into things, Janetl You must try to get over thatl”
But it was hard to “get over.” She looked upon her life as two sides of a
stereopticon-both different, yet merging into one focus. On one plate was
the well-appointed young lady with impeccable credentials, enormous wealth,
and an obviously assured future with some well-appointed, enormously
wealthy, impeccably credentialed husband. On the other was a girl with a
frown on her forehead and a questioning look in her eyes.
For this girl thought the world was larger than the confined world
presented to her. Larger and far more compelling. But no one had allowed
her to see that larger world.
Except her husband.
And the part of it he let her see-forced her to s was terrifying.
Which is why she drank.
While preparations for the birth continued, aided by a steady stream of
Janet!s friends and family, a strange passivity came over Ulster Stewart
Scarlett. It was discernible especially to those who observed him closely,
but even to others it was apparent that he had slowed down his normally
frantic pace. He was quieter, less volatile, sometimes reflective. And for
a while his periods of going off by himself became more frequent. Never
very long, just three or four days at a time. Many, like Chancellor Drew,
attributed it to impending fatherhood.
“I tell you, Mother, it’s simply wonderful. Hes a new mant And you know, I
told him having children was the answer. Gives a man a purpose. You watch,
when ies a over he’ll be ready for a real man’s job I”
“You have an acute ability to grasp the obvious, Chancellor. Your brother
is quite convinced that he has a purpose in avoiding what you call a real
man’s job. I suspect he’s bored to death by his imminent role as father. Or
he’s drinking bad whiskey.”
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“You’re too hard on him.”
“Quite the contrary,” interrupted Elizabeth ScarlattL “I think he’s become
far too hard on us.”
Chancellor Drew looked bewildered. He changed the subject and began to read
aloud a report of Scarwyck’s newest project.
A week later a male child was born to Janet Scarlett at the French
Hospital. Ten days later at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine he was
christened Andrew Roland Scarlett.
And a day after the christening, Ulster Stewart Scarlett disappeared.
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CHAPTER 11
At first no one took much notice. Ulster had stayed away from home before.
Although it was not the conventional behavior of a new father, Ulster hardly
fit into any conventional pattern. It was presumed that the tribal rites
attending the birth of a male child proved just too much for him and that he
had taken refuge in activities best left undescribed. When after three weeks
no word had been heard from him and no satisfactory explanations furnished
by a variety of people, the family became concemed. On the twenty-fifth day
after his disappearance, Janet asked Chancellor to call the police. Instead,
Chancellor called Elizabeth, which was a far more positive action.
Elizabeth carefully weighed the, alternatives. Calling the police would
necessitate an investigation and probably a great deal of publicity. In
light of Ulster’s activities a year ago, that was undesirable. If Ulstees
absence was his own doing, such action would only serve to provoke hirn.
Without provocation her son was unpredictable; with it he might well be
impossible. She decided to hire a discreet firm of investigators, which
often had been called on to examine insurance claims against the family
businesses. The owners understood completely and put only their most
efficient and trusted men on the job.
Elizabeth gave them two weeks to unearth Ulster StewarL Actually, she
expected he’d show up by then, but if he didn’t, she would turn the matter
over to the police.
At the end of the first week, the investigators had compiled a multi-page
report about Ulster’s habits. The places he most frequently visited; his
friends (many); his
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enemies (few); and, in as much detail as possible, a reconstruction of his
movements during the last few days before he vanished. They gave this
information to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth and Chancellor Drew studied the reports closely. They revealed
nothing.
The second week proved equally unenlightening except to fill in Ulstees
activities more minutely by the days and hours. Since his return from
Europe, his daily rounds had become ritualistic. The squash courts and the
steam rooms of the athletic club; the bank on lower Broadway, Waterman
Trust; his cocktails on Fifty-third Street between 4:30 and 6:00 P.M. with
five speakeasies sharing the five weekdays of his attendance; the nightly
sorties into the entertainment world where a handful of entrepreneurs
commandeered his indulgence (and financing); the almost routine early
morning windups at a supper club on Fiftieth Street prior to his arrival
home, never later than 2:00 Am.
One bit of data did catch Elizabeth’s attention as, indeed, it had the one
who had reported it. It was incongruous. it appeared on Wednesday’s sheet,
Left house at approximately 10:30 and immediately hailed a taxi in front
of residence. Maid was sweeping front steps and believed she heard – Mr.
Scarlett, direct the driver to a subway.
Elizabeth had never thought of Ulster In a subway. And yet, two hours
later, according to a “Mr. Mascolo, head waiter at the Venezia Restaurant,”
he was having an early lunch with a “Miss Dempsey (See Acquaintances:
Theatrical artists).” The restaurant was two blocks from uistees house. Of
course there could be a dozen explanations and certainly nothing in the
report indicated anything strange other than Ulster’s decision to go to a
subway. For the time bein& Elizabeth attributed it to uistees meeting
someone, probably Miss Dempsey.
At the end of the week, Elizabeth capitulated and instructed Cliancellor
Drew to contact the police.
The newspapers had a red-letter day.
The Bureau of Investigation joined with the Manhattan police on the premise
that possibly interstate laws had
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been violated. Dozens of publicity seekers as well as many sincere
individuals volunteered that they had seen Ulster during that last week
before his disappearance. Some macabre souls telephoned, claiming knowledge
of his whereabouts, demanding money for the information. Five letters
arrived asking ransom for his return. All leads were checked OUL All proved
worthless.
Benjamin Reynolds saw the story on page two of the Washington Herald. Other
than the wedding, it was the first news he’d read about Ulster Scarlett
since his meeting with Elizabeth Scarlatti over a year ago. However, in
keeping with his word, he had made discreet inquiries about the celebrated