Descent from Xanadu by Harold Robbins

Author:Harold Robbins [Robbins, Harold]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780795340932
Publisher: RosettaBooks LLC
Published: 2014-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

28

Paul took them to lunch at his usual poolside table at The Four Seasons restaurant. Barbara and Judd sat on the inside chairs next to the bubbling water softly rising through the limpid green pool. Jim, Barbara’s husband, sat beside her and Paul was next to Judd.

Without a word, a waiter placed a double Scotch on the rocks before Paul. “Cheers,” he said, taking a sip. Then he asked what they would like to drink.

Paul Kovi and Tom Margittai appeared with a cold bottle of pink champagne, Cristale ’75, before they had an opportunity to order a drink. “Madame’s favorite,” Paul said, as he gently bowed and kissed Barbara’s hand.

“You remembered,” Barbara smiled. “So thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“We don’t see you enough,” Tom said. He turned to Judd. “And you either, young man.”

“I’m not in town very much,” Judd said. “I have to work for a living.”

“Of course,” Tom said without conviction.

Paul looked at Judd. “I don’t know how you do it, but you look younger now than you did when I saw you three years ago. What’s your secret?”

Judd laughed. “Early to bed, early to rise—you know the old saying.”

The two restaurateurs smiled, and bowing again, walked away as Oreste made a ceremony of opening the champagne. Judd tasted and nodded his approval. Oreste filled the thin tulip glasses. “Bon appétit,” he said, and left the table.

Judd raised his glass. “To all of you.”

“And to you,” Barbara said warmly.

Paul looked at him. “Despite all our problems, the machine keeps on rolling,” he said. “Putting everything together, the Crane Foundation, the trusts, your personal holdings at the end of this current calendar year, will combine to equal more than five hundred billion dollars.”

“Those are just numbers,” Judd said. “There isn’t that much money in the world. If there is, then there is no reason to complain about the investment in Crane Island.”

Paul gestured for another double Scotch. “You’re probably right,” he said. “Despite my normal pessimistic doubts, you always seem to come up right.”

“Thank you, Uncle Paul,” Judd said. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

One of the gray uniformed attendants approached them, a telephone in his hand. “Mr. Crane, I have a telephone call for you.” At Judd’s nod, he plugged the cord into a socket hidden in the tree behind Judd’s chair.

Judd checked his pockets. They were empty. “Uncle Paul, take care of him for me.”

Paul grumbled, handing the young man a five-dollar bill, “Now I know how you made all that money.”

Judd spoke into the telephone. “Crane here.”

“Judd,” Dr. Zabiski’s familiar voice came into his ear. “Merlin told me where I could reach you.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“At the airport. JFK,” she said. “It’s very important that we meet.”

“What terminal are you at?”

“Pan American.”

“Wait there,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.” He rose from the table at once. “You’ll have to excuse me from lunch,” he said. “Something special has just come up.”

They knew better than to ask him what. “Will I see you at dinner?” Barbara inquired.

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