Only three days ago, her great-grandmother had been alive. They had talked and she had smiled at Dorothy-Anne, kissed her. Only three days ago.
Now she was ashes.
Dorothy-Anne turned away, her eyes blurring with tears. She found the dampness soothing to the grittiness three sleepless, grief filled days had left in her eyes, but she knew she couldn't give in to tears. If she wept now, she wouldn't be able to stop for a very long time. And, first, she had a job to do.
She felt a stirring within her belly, and, wiping her eyes with a knuckle, she carefully shifted the weight of her body, swollen with the baby she carried.
If only Great-Granny had lived long enough to see this child, she thought sadly. The baby was due in just three weeks. Closing her eyes, she felt for the movement within her womb: a sharp kick, then another, followed by an ever-so-slight shifting of the child. Usually, the kicking filled her with a warmth and closeness for the child. But, now, in her exhaustion, her body seemed strangely alien and dis-attached. She felt her baby move, but wondered if it was in someone else's body.
'Honey? You all right?'
Startled, she opened her eyes and turned to her husband, Freddie. He kept glancing between her and the road, a concerned expression creasing his face.
'I'm fine,' she assured him softly. She smiled and reached over, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. He knew she hadn't been able to sleep since her great grandmother's death, but she didn't want to alarm him by letting him see how drained and weak she felt now. 'Don't worry, honey. I'm okay. Just tired.' And then she let her head fall back gently on the headrest.
A few more weeks, she thought. Just a few more weeks and then I'll give Freddie his child. But that thought awoke a nagging worry which wiggled in the fog of her exhausted mind like a worm. What if it wouldn't come in a few weeks? What if it were sooner? What if the baby came tomorrow or even today?
She shifted again slightly , shaking her head to dispell the moment of panic. She shouldn't let Dr. Danvers worry her like this. He might be a doctor, even one of the best in the field, but he was just being overprotective when he advised her not to make the trip to Texas. She was, alter all, still three weeks away from full term. And Dr. Danvers didn't understand the importance of her great-grandmother's last wish.
It had been a small enough thing to ask that Dorothy-Anne scatter her ashes in Quebeck, Elizabeth-Anne's home. Dorothy-Anne understood the request and knew she had to fulfill it as quickly as she could. That's what Elizabeth-Anne had wanted, and what Dorothy-Anne needed to do. She had to know Elizabeth-Anne's soul was finally at rest - the rest she had waited so long for, and so fully earned. Dorothy-Anne knew she was at the end of her rope, that she had pushed herself as far physically and mentally as she dared - but this was something she had to do, now.
Dorothy-Anne closed her eyes, again trying to ease her sense of restlessness and anxiety. But she knew these feelings wouldn't fade. They sprang from a grief so overwhelming, a loss so profoundly deep, it was physically painful. She didn't know if she would ever be able to get over it.
And then she had a thought that brought a tentative smile to her lips. After all, how could she forget a great-grandmother who had given her a thirty million dollar birthday present?
That had been on her ninth birthday, almost ten years before. Dorothy-Anne felt she would be able to turn the clock back to that day if she lived to be a hundred . . .
October 17, 1974. Autumn, and she was looking out her bedroom window in the big house in Tarrytown, her chin resting on her crossed arms. Below, the gardeners were out in full force, raking the fallen, golden leaves. But she wasn't watching them; she was on the lookout for Great-Granny's car. It would come from between the tall, clipped hedges which stood guard at the far end of the curved driveway.
She had been dressed and waiting for over an hour. Nanny, her governess, had allowed her to wear her favorite red dress, with its starched lace collar and glittering, tiny rhinestone buttons. After all, it wasn't every day that a girl celebrated her ninth birthday, or that Great-Granny came expressly to pick her up and drive her down to the city to celebrate it in style.
Dorothy-Anne glanced again at the china shepherdess clock on the windowsill. Her heart skipped a beat. It was twenty-seven past one. Just three more minutes, and Great-Granny's car would appear. Dorothy-Anne knew this for a fact; Elizabeth-Anne Hale was never late.
Dorothy-Anne sat poised to leap up, watching the second hand of the clock make three last graceful sweeping revolutions, and then at precisely one thirty, she jumped forward and pressed her nose flat against the glass, her breath making a little halo of fog. Her eyes lit up.
There it was, the majestic yellow-and-black Rolls-Royce. The shiny hood with the chrome grille and the big bug-eye headlamps was just nosing out from between the hedges.
Jumping to her feet, she ran from the room and raced down the long, carpeted hall. When she reached the head of the stairs, she got up on the sleek bannister with a well- practiced backward hop. She balanced herself carefully and then let go, beginning the long smooth slide down the wide staircase.
As she slid down to the first-floor landing, she saw Nanny looking up at her with stern disapproval. Immediately, Dorothy-Anne clutched the bannister so that, with a squeak of burning friction against her palms, she came to an abrupt halt. Slowly, she slid off the bannister and walked down the rest of the way with ladylike dignity.
She smiled shyly up at Nanny, but the smile wasn't returned. She didn't really mind. Nanny wasn't a bad sort, even if she wasn't much given to smiling. That didn't matter because Dorothy-Anne was fascinated by Nanny's looks. She was over fifty, with gray eyes and hair, and in profile her body looked remarkably like a silhouetted map of Africa. The stateliness of her bust and buttocks beneath the black dress she always wore was especially surprising in contrast to her thin and shapely legs.
Nanny looked down at Dorothy-Anne and without speaking held out the tan cashmere coat and helped her into it. Then Dorothy-Anne stepped back and awaited inspection. She could almost see Nanny tick off the items on her check list with her critical glance: hair combed and neat, dress buttoned, hem straight. Now came the final test.
Nanny stepped closer and leaned down so that her pointed face was not two inches from Dorothy-Anne's.
'Breathe,' she ordered.
Dutifully, Dorothy-Anne opened her mouth and sighed right into Nanny's face.
Nanny's eyes flickered. She straightened, reached into her dress pocket, and produced a rock-hard white candy. Dorothy-Anne accepted it, unwrapped it from the clear cellophane and handed the wrapper back to Nanny. She then popped the mint into her mouth and with a practiced flick of her tongue, pushed it into the hollow of a cheek. The menthol taste was sharp and mediciney, but she refrained from making a face.
Nanny leaned down again and began to button Dorothy-Anne's coat from the bottom up. 'Now don't you forget your manners,' she warned sternly. 'When you get into the car, say: "Good afternoon, Great-Grandmother. It was very lovely of you to invite me." '
Dorothy-Anne nodded solemnly.
'If you receive a gift, open it slowly.' Nanny gave her a meaningful look. 'Don't tear the wrappings to shreds. And don't forget to say: "Thank you, Great-Grandmother. I'll treasure it always." '
Dorothy-Anne nodded again. The mint was making her salivate, but she refrained from swallowing. That way, the awful menthol taste didn't spread.
She then followed Nanny to the main entrance and stepped aside as the huge mahogany double doors were pulled open by the butler. When she stepped outside, the fresh air felt cool and good against her face. A brisk wind was blowing down the Hudson Valley, scudding the white clouds overhead and doubling the work of the gardeners who were still busy raking leaves.
As soon as she heard the door shut behind her, she leaned over the balustrade, turned her face sideways and spat the mint behind the clipped yews, where it joined a pile of others. Then she wiped her lips with the back of a hand and, let
ting out a whoop of joy, raced down the steps to the waiting car.
Forty minutes later, the big car rolled to a stop under the yellow canopy of the Hale Palace Hotel on Fifth Avenue. Both of the doormen came rushing down the red-carpeted steps, practically falling over each other to open the passenger door. Dorothy-Anne slipped carefully out on the street side, pushed the door shut with both hands and came around the car. Wide-eyed, she stared at the doormen. They were identical twins, dressed in pale blue uniforms with glittering rows of brass buttons and braided gold epaulets on their shoulders.
Max, the chauffeur, went wordlessly around to the trunk and lifted out Elizabeth-Anne's collapsible wheelchair. Max was the biggest man Dorothy-Anne had even seen. He was Japanese, carried his huge shoulders and enormous paunch with pride, and had once been a sumo wrestler. Dorothy-Anne thought Max was a funny name for a sumo wrestler, but Great-Granny had explained that her first chauffeur had been named Max, and thereafter, she had called all the others Max, too.
During the drive down from Tarrytown, Great-Granny's nurse, Miss Bunt, had sat up front beside Max. Now she silently took the chair from him and wheeled it into position on the sidewalk. She held it firmly by the handles as Max ducked into the Rolls.
'Ready, Miss Hale?' he asked.
Great-Granny looked at him dourly, but she didn't move. 'As ready as I'll ever be,' she said in her clear, clipped voice.
Carefully, he scooped her out of the car and deposited her ever so gently into the wheelchair. Next came the lap blanket, which he tucked around her lap and legs.
Dorothy-Anne watched the ritual closely, fascinated as always by anything Elizabeth-Anne did. She idolized her great-grandmother, realizing even at her young age that the elder Hale was a very special type of woman.
Although Elizabeth-Anne's last stroke had left her paralyzed from the waist down, no one had ever heard her complain; nor did she give the impression that she was helpless. When she had walked, she had done so with erect dignity and, now that she was confined to a wheelchair, she still maintained a regal bearing. Tall and gaunt, she wore her silver hair in a thick, full permanent. Clipped to her ear lobes were large jade cabochons surrounded by a fine lacework of white gold filigree.
The bright afternoon light showed each of her seventy-one years etched clearly on her face, her skin cracked finely like the surface of an ancient painting seen through a magnifying glass. Yet the light showed more than her age. It also revealed her unique and indomitable strength. That was what was most striking about her, her unmistakable air of inner purpose. She was a woman at home in plush and polished surroundings, but also one of the world's shrewdest and wealthiest entrepreneurs, the founder of a multinational empire which included 432 luxury hotels worldwide.
'Thank you, Max,' Elizabeth-Anne said crisply once she was settled comfortably in her wheelchair. She focused her clear blue eyes on Dorothy-Anne, and raised her eyebrows questioningly. 'Shall we proceed?'
Dorothy-Anne nodded.
Elizabeth-Anne Hale lifted a hand in an imperious but graceful gesture. 'Miss Bunt?'
The nurse stepped aside as the twin doormen took over. They pushed the wheelchair smoothly up the ramp, while Dorothy-Anne and Miss Bunt followed alongside, on the red-carpeted stairs. The chair rounded the top of the ramp and Miss Bunt took over again, pushing Great-Granny toward the gleaming brass and etched-glass doors of the Hale Palace that the doormen already held open. Dorothy-Anne noticed that the doors were flanked by perfect, ball- shaped topiary trees in brass tubs. She fell back as something about the tubs caught her eye. They gleamed like gold and . . . for the first time she noticed the engraved intertwined script
HH.
Hale Hotels.
Like the cherry topping a sundae, this last touch made her feel especially important. Great-Granny was a Hale. And so, she thought with a surge of pride, was she.
Elizabeth-Anne had commandeered the Tropical Court so the two of them could have lunch alone. The enormous courtyard was glassed-in eighteen floors above, and Dorothy-Anne thought it was the most exciting place in the world. With the splashing fountains, thickets of exotic foliage and towering palms, the restaurant allowed one to easily imagine it was in the tropics. Especially with the riotously feathered parrots and pale cockatoos with clipped wings that screamed from their perches.
The lunch was accompanied by a string quartet, and served by a moustached maitre d' and two unctuous waiters. The meal itself was simple but delicious: jumbo shrimp cocktails, a salad of red leaf and avocado, whole lobsters and sauteed green spinach. Elizabeth-Anne chatted warmly with Dorothy-Anne as the girl happily cleared her plates, even down to the spinach.
When the meal was over, three waiters and the maitre d' brought in an exquisitely frosted birthday cake. Nine tiny candles were arranged in a circle and glowed with little halos. As it was ceremoniously set down in front of Dorothy-Anne, the quartet broke into a rendition of 'Happy Birthday'. Great-Granny joined the singing, her voice surprisingly clear and melodious.
The cake was served with dollops of French vanilla ice cream and a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon. Great-Granny allowed Dorothy-Anne to drink half a glass of it, undiluted. When the desert plates were cleared away, the quartet withdrew and they were alone. The splashing of the fountains and the screams of the birds now sounded very loud. Great-Granny looked across the courtyard, and Dorothy-Anne followed her gaze. Two men carrying attache cases were walking toward their table.
'Gentlemen,' Elizabeth-Anne said, gesturing proudly, 'this is my greatgrand daughter, Miss Dorothy-Anne Hale.'
The men looked down at her and extended their hands. Dorothy-Anne remained seated and shook hands politely.
Both men seemed to have very dry, brittle skin. They were in their sixties and had gray hair and wore pin-striped suits.
'Mr. Bernstein, Mr. Morris,' Elizabeth-Anne said. 'Please, sit down.'
As the men obeyed, putting their attache cases down beside their chairs, Elizabeth-Anne rested her elbows on the table and folded her hands. She looked at Dorothy-Anne and came right to the point. 'Mr. Bernstein and Mr. Morris are attorneys,' she explained.
Dorothy-Anne looked solemn and Elizabeth-Anne laughed with amusement. 'Don't look at them like that, my dear,' she said briskly. 'They are not here to arrest you.' She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. Then she looked pointedly at Dorothy-Anne over the rim of her cup. 'They are merely delivering your birthday present.'
'Honey?'
The voice seemed to be floating in space amidst swirling memories and flashes of technicolor pictures.
'Honey. . . '
It was a warm voice, a voice Dorothy-Anne knew well and loved. She opened her eyes and snapped back to the present. She shook her head to clear it.
'Are you awake, honey? It sounded like you were talking in your sleep.'
'No . . . no, I was just daydreaming. I'm okay now.' She smiled at him reassuringly, but in truth she wasn't sure if she was alright. She had just been in Manhattan, over a decade in the past; the memory had seemed so real, she wasn't sure if she was dreaming now, instead. But, no, the irrigated orchards were still moving past outside the car windows. And the ache in her heart was still there.
'We're about there, honey.'
She looked over at Freddie and tried to smile, then turned back to gaze out the windshield. She wondered how long she had been daydreaming. She didn't feel rested, but knew it must have been quite a while, as night had almost fallen and Freddie had already turned off the main highway, the one no one used anymore.
The sky had darkened some more and on the horizon, Dorothy-Anne saw thunderheads, low and boiling, a menacingly dark charcoal gray. But overhead, they were a yellowish muddy brown, as if the sun were trying to leak through.
'Storm's brewing,' Freddie said. 'It looks pretty bad.' He lit his cigarette with the dashboard lighter and then inhaled so that the tip glowed orange in the darkening light.
Suddenly Dorothy-Anne's attention was drawn to the old billboard
up ahead. It was ancient and peeling, a Pop Art relic from long before Pop Art came into being. It was big and rectangular, with a faded coronet jutting out over the top. The little orbs atop the coronet had long since broken away, and the flakes of gold paint had gone the way of the wind and the rain. Now the crown's edge looked like jagged teeth trying to take a bite out of the sky.
She stared at the billboard as it rushed toward her, and she mouthed the faded letters which clung tenaciously to it.
HALE TOURIST COURT
That was what it read, and it had been standing there long before Hale hotels had sprouted like mushrooms after a worldwide rainfall. Long before some clever, Madison Avenue design team had come up with the elegantly intertwined HH logo. Because long before everything else, there had been the Tourist Court.
It was just up ahead, on the side of the road, and it wasn't worth a second glance. There were a hundred thousand motels like it across the country on roads like this one, old roads obsolete now that newer highways had been built. The Tourist Court was just another row of dilapidated little cabins separated by carports, their only unique feature their roofs of corrugated iron, high, steep and sloping. They were mansard roofs, once painted bright orange and shining with newness, now weathered dull and rusting.
But still, this particular motel was special in a way no other could ever be. It was the Hale Tourist Court, and it was here that Elizabeth-Anne's worldwide empire had begun.
Was it possible? Dorothy-Anne asked herself, gazing at the Tourist Court as Freddie slowed, pulled over and stopped the car. The idea of it spun dizzily in her foggy, exhausted mind. Could one ignoble motel have been the springboard for an empire of international luxury hotels? Could a lone woman truly have had such vision and incredible drive as to build one of the world's largest independently controlled fortunes from these buildings?
Texas Born Page 39
