Hal concentrated on his driving.
‘Did you know he’s been financing the hotel?’
They were following a slow-moving truck down the Proserpine road and had just passed Abel Point, with Hal looking for an opportunity to overtake, and she wasn’t sure he’d taken in what she’d said.
‘Did you hear me?’
He saw an opening and took it, engine howling.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘You don’t sound very surprised.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Are you saying you knew about it and never told me?’
Safely past the truck, he brought the speed back to a moderate level and settled more firmly in his seat.
‘Of course I didn’t know. But I knew they were business associates. How d’you think I got you a job there in the first place? That’s how Dad has always done things. He owns three hotels and each time he’s followed the same pattern in getting hold of them. Hotel with potential but not earning the returns it should, usually because of poor management; he lends them big bucks and when they can’t pay him back he grabs the business, puts in his own people who know what they’re doing and in no time they’re making good profits.’
‘And the previous owners?’
‘Out on the street.’
‘Is that what he’s planning for me?’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Because I’m married to his son?’
‘That wouldn’t stop him. No, because he respects you. You’ll never get him to admit it, but it’s the truth.’
It was good to hear, but puzzling. ‘Why does he respect me?’
‘Because you wouldn’t let him bully you. And because he reckons you know what you’re doing. Or will, in time. He thinks you have potential. As long as you perform, he’ll give you no trouble.’
‘I wish I felt the same.’
‘What he will do is suggest he puts in one of his blokes to keep an eye on things. As a sort of advisor.’
‘Suggest? Or tell?’
Hal smiled. ‘I told you before, he’s a battering ram. But suggest is how he’ll put it.’
He changed gear as they turned left into the Conway Beach road.
‘And if I don’t want his spy breathing down my neck?’
‘You’d be crazy. Whoever he picks, he’ll be a good man. Experienced. Someone who’ll be useful to us. He’ll attend board meetings and offer advice but as long as things are running smoothly he won’t want to interfere in the daily running of the business.’
‘You sound as though you know him.’
‘If he’s the man I think he is, I do. Aaron Davies was part of the management team of the London Savoy before the war. Dad headhunted him when he was over there in 1936.’
London’s Savoy Hotel? You couldn’t argue with credentials like that. But Shannon remained cautious. ‘As long as he knows who’s in charge.’
‘His brief will be to help you make the hotel profitable. As long as you can do that you won’t have to worry about my dad.’
‘And if I can’t?’
‘All bets are off.’
Early the next morning she had a phone call from a woman who said her name was Millicent Sharp. Shannon had never heard of Millicent Sharp.
‘How can I help you?’
‘I am Sir Stoddart’s secretary. He asked me to let you know that he would appreciate meeting with you at ten-thirty this morning. If you can spare the time.’
From Millicent Sharp’s tone it had not occurred to her that Shannon might be unable to spare the time.
‘Where does he want to meet? Here at the hotel?’
‘Sir Stoddart’s preference will be for you to meet him here at his office. At ten-thirty. And Mrs Maitland…’
‘What?’
‘He appreciates punctuality.’
‘Thank you for that,’ Shannon said. ‘I value punctuality myself.’
Make them come to you. The second time he’d done it. It was a lesson she would remember.
It was only ten miles from Airlie Beach to Proserpine but the road was bad and with petrol rationing still in place there was no fuel to spare for speeding, so Shannon gave herself half an hour to complete the journey. She was early and so had a minute or two to look in Faust’s window, where they were advertising what was called the New Look in women’s clothes. The dresses had a soft and more feminine line than the utility junk they’d been churning out during the war. Maybe, if she still had a hotel when Sir Stoddart had finished with her, she might have another look. She owed herself some new clothes.
No New Look for the well-named Millicent Sharp. She was wearing a black business suit with sharp, no-nonsense shoulders that went well with her sharp, no-nonsense features. ‘Sir Stoddart will see you presently.’
Shannon sat. Mounted on the wall behind Millicent Sharp’s desk, a round-faced clock ticked. The minutes passed.
He kept her waiting fifteen minutes. So much for appreciating punctuality.
The internal phone on Millicent’s desk buzzed. She listened briefly. Then: ‘Sir Stoddart will see you now.’
His office was large, as she had expected, and businesslike, the only trace of his personality or tastes a photograph on the wall behind his desk of a good-looking stallion that she guessed must be connected with the stud farm that Hal had told her his father was in the process of developing.
‘Sorry to keep you.’ Again, a formula: the words meant nothing.
She walked to the chair facing the large mahogany desk and sat down uninvited. ‘Unavoidable, I am sure,’ she said. ‘A pity, all the same.’
He stared at her, eyes narrowed.
‘The more time I waste sitting around,’ Shannon said, ‘the less time I have to make the Regency profitable.’
‘You speak your mind,’ he said.
‘Always have, always will.’
‘Then I will speak mine. You will have seen the figures; you know the Regency owes me a lot of money.’
‘I saw that. How did it happen?’
‘Arthur Nimrod was a shrewd man. He wanted the hotel to succeed but knew it needed a significant upgrade if it were to compete in the post-war world. He didn’t have the funds; I did. But you must understand it was a personal arrangement between Arthur and me. You were not a party to it. I therefore have to decide whether you are up to the challenge of making the Regency a success, or whether to call in my loan.’ His eyes assessed her for a minute while Shannon, motionless in her chair, waited. ‘I’ll give you six months to start showing a profit. Is that fair?’
‘More than fair. But you could have told me that over the phone.’
‘In this case I decided it would be best to speak face to face. We live in a tough world and it won’t get any easier. I wanted to be sure you have what it takes.’
‘And do I?’
‘Time will tell. You and I both know I didn’t want my son to marry you. Also, you went out of your way to defy me over my granddaughter. However, I am for the moment prepared to back my son’s judgement. For the moment.’
‘Good. So we both know where we stand. As you say, time will tell.’ She stood, looking again at the photograph behind Stoddart Maitland’s chair. ‘Nice looking animal.’
‘You know about horseflesh?’
‘Only what my eyes tell me.’
She was halfway to the door when he spoke behind her. ‘I would like you to take on a colleague of mine to act as an advisor. Only that. You can say no if you wish, but he has a lot of experience in hotel management and I think could be helpful to you.’
She turned and looked at him, knowing he was testing her. Deliberately she kept him waiting a few seconds before she answered. ‘I would welcome that,’ she said.
Six weeks later, on 1 August 1947, Aaron Davies joined the company and was everything Hal had said he would be, coming up with plenty of ideas without being too assertive about it.
The half-yearly accounts showed the Regency in a break-even situation; when the final f
igures were produced to 30 June 1948 the hotel was in profit. For the time, at least, Sir Stoddart was off Shannon’s back.
On 1 August 1948, a year to the day since he’d started with the hotel, Aaron Davies made a suggestion about Jess’s future.
Shannon was surprised. ‘She’s happy where she is.’
Aaron was in his fifties and with his background Shannon, a month shy of thirty, felt herself at a disadvantage. He was short and stocky and knew how to make his presence felt. He could be abrasive or charming, depending on the situation. He plonked himself down in the chair on the other side of her desk and she braced herself but Aaron smiled: charm offensive time.
‘No, she isn’t,’ he said.
‘She hasn’t said anything.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t realise it herself. But that sister of yours has talent.’
‘I know that.’
‘I imagine you do. But she’ll never realise her potential if she stays as Jean Goujon’s understudy.’
‘She’s only twenty-one.’
‘Age has nothing to do with it. You leave her where she is, one of these days she’ll wake up and discover there’s a big world out there. If you’ve done nothing for her in the meantime, that will be the day you lose her.’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Send her overseas.’
‘To Paris?’
Aaron shook his head. ‘Singapore,’ he said.
Shannon sat a little straighter in her chair. ‘To learn French cuisine?’ she said.
He smiled. ‘Who said anything about French cuisine?’
SEPTEMBER–DECEMBER 1948
Jess
Things began; things ended.
Jess was working in the brightly lit kitchen of the Regency Hotel. She should have been over the moon because for the first time Jean Goujon had entrusted her with the preparation of one of his signature dishes, his own variation on the cassoulet that came from Carcassonne in the Toulouse region of southern France. It was by way of being a dry run; they’d had word that the internationally renowned food critic Cedric Masters was planning to write a report on the hotel in his column ‘Gourmet Destinations’. Masters was a famous critic and his column was syndicated in many countries. With the international tourist trade getting back into its stride at last, a favourable review would do wonders for their reputation and the hotel’s bottom line.
The success of the dish depended on the skilful blending of salt, garlic and thyme used in the preparation of the duck confit, which was an essential ingredient and gave the dish its individuality. Getting the balance right was tricky, and it was a huge vote of confidence in her ability that Jean Goujon had entrusted her with its preparation.
If she performed to his satisfaction he might even allow her to take a hand in doing it again when Cedric Masters was in the dining room; success would do great things not just for the hotel’s reputation but her own, and she was delighted to have been given such responsibility at her age. Yet delight was tinged with regret. The way Grace had reacted to her at their chance meeting at Shute Harbour had left its mark. It had happened four years before but still hurt when she thought about it. Now her sense of betrayal and loss wounded her yet again as she thought how great it would have been had she been able to share her excitement with the woman who at one time had meant the world to her.
Things began; things ended. It was true of the sun, the earth and everything that had ever lived upon the earth. It was true of life itself. Most of all, it was true of love.
Concentrating on the dish she was preparing for Jean Goujon should have taken her mind off her problems and so it did, but only to a point. One way or another, Jess told herself, she had to move on. That was the only way she could be free.
It was then that Aaron Davies came to see her.
‘Sir Stoddart Maitland thinks highly of you. Did you know that?’
She’d taken off the white linen skullcap she wore when she was working; now she ran her hands through her golden hair. ‘I’m surprised he thinks about me at all.’
‘Six years ago, you went to see him after the Darwin raid. There aren’t many people he admires but you’re one of them. He thought what you did showed guts. He’s kept an eye on you ever since.’
‘I’m glad he approves of me but I don’t understand why he should care. I work for Shannon, not for him.’
‘Shannon is a member of the family, which makes you one, too. He’s asked me to help out in any way I can.’
Silence.
He smiled at her. He waited.
‘And?’ she said.
‘The Regency’s only a start,’ he said. ‘Sir Stoddart believes, and I agree with him, that there’s a big future ahead for all of us, if we play our cards right.’
Endless hints could drive you nuts. ‘You want to tell me what you’re talking about?’
‘Success in business, as in life, depends on grabbing your chances when you see them. Do your homework, take your chances and win. That’s the way to do it. I think the future lies, not in our traditional markets – England, the US, Europe – but in Asia. In Japan, Hong Kong, maybe even in China.’
‘They’re fighting a civil war in China.’
‘They are. I doubt it’ll go on much longer but for the moment you’re right and we can do nothing. Sometime down the track, whoever wins, that will have to change. China has a lot of catching up to do with the rest of the world and it would be good to be a part of that. When that time comes, if I’m right, we shall need to be ready or we’ll miss out.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Your sister and her husband own a large piece of real estate on the coast south of Brisbane. For the moment there’s no planning permission but some time in the future that will change, too. When it does, they’ll be rich. They’ll need to invest somewhere and I’m thinking Hong Kong might be a good place to start.’
Hong Kong? She would never have thought of Hong Kong, but she supposed that was why Aaron Davies was with them, to come up with ideas. She liked that; it gave her confidence.
‘Maybe you’re right. But what’s that got to do with me?’
‘Goujon tells me you’re interested in Chinese cooking. Is that right?’
‘Probably. He’s the one who first spoke to me about it but I don’t know much.’
‘I’ve been talking it over with your sister. I think you’ll find the company will be willing to sponsor you to attend the culinary arts school that has recently been opened at the Singapore University. It’s a two-year course and will specialise in a wide range of Chinese cooking, from Peking in the north to Szechuan and Canton in the south. Chinese cuisine is regarded as a major component of traditional Chinese culture and will be treated accordingly.’
‘Chinese cooking? In Airlie Beach? You think anyone will be interested?’
‘Not at the moment, perhaps, but in time to come I would say definitely yes. In any case, as I said, we aren’t thinking of Airlie Beach but Hong Kong. Not today or tomorrow, but with that expertise under your belt you’ll be ready to grab the opportunity when it comes.’
‘My sister agrees? And what about Jean? Wouldn’t I be letting him down?’
‘Why don’t you ask him? He was the one who told me you might be interested.’
‘And when he leaves to open his new restaurant?’
Aaron smiled. ‘I believe he may be having second thoughts about that,’ he said. ‘French cuisine remains an option, if you prefer, but you’ll have to choose. I don’t think it’s possible to specialise in both.’
‘I’ll need time to think about it,’ Jess said.
She thought long and hard. She tossed the conflicting options around until she felt seasick. Yes, she would go; the mystic Orient had always drawn her. No, she would not go; the mystic Orient had always scared her.
Eventually…
She went to see Shannon. She sat down and stared at her across the desk. She said she would go to Singapore.
The mystic Orient ha
d won. It would be a challenge, but Jess had always loved challenges. Besides, if Jean Goujon really was having second thoughts about moving on, there would be no room at the top for Jess Harcourt. And the top was where she intended to be.
Enquiries were made. References were submitted and accepted. One of Sir Stoddart’s contacts found her a small flat.
Jess spent the Christmas holidays with Shannon, Hal and eighteen-month-old Lydia. Hal’s father had been invited but had declined, surprising no one – he had never been one for family get-togethers – although he had given Lydia an extravagant present: a battery-operated doll that could actually speak. Jess made a great show of attention as Hal advised her of the dos and don’ts of life in Southeast Asia, while privately resolving to follow her own path, as she always did.
Two days after Christmas, carrying her little suitcase and two hundred pounds in five-pound notes, Jess flew out.
1949–51
Jess
Singapore was as hot as hell and ten times as humid. The flat that Sir Stoddart’s contact had found was above a Chinese provision shop at the less salubrious end of a street called River Valley Road. It was too far and hot to walk to the cookery school, too inconvenient to go there by bus and too expensive to use a taxi. Luckily there was no shortage of the bicycle rickshaws called trishaws, though they had their own hazards, the topee-wearing drivers seemingly indifferent to the diesel-belching trucks that ground past them close enough to touch.
The flat had its drawbacks, too. It was hot, with only one creaking ceiling fan to cool the air; it was noisy with the endless clack and clatter of hokkien-bawling street vendors; and it was besieged by odours from the shop downstairs. On the other hand, it was cheap, which was a blessing. It would do.
She ate at a Chinese food court just down the road from the flat. Unsure what to order, she stared at the pictures of various dishes on the wall behind the stalls and pointed a random finger at one. She took the dish to a tin-clad table where other people were eating, and fought with the chopsticks that had come with the dish. She managed, after a fashion, and the food tasted good. As the only Westerner in the warehouse-like shop, she knew she was the object of curiosity and did not care.
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