“Look at the time, Wladek,” she said. “It’s past eleven and I’m on first breakfast call at six tomorrow.”
Abel had not noticed the four hours pass. He would have happily sat there talking to Zaphia for the rest of the night, soothed by her admiration, which she confessed so artlessly.
“May I see you again, Zaphia?” he asked as they walked back to the Stevens arm in arm.
“If you want to, Wladek.”
They stopped at the servants’ entrance at the back of the hotel.
“This is where I go in,” she said. “If you were to become the assistant manager, Wladek, you’d be allowed to go in by the front entrance.”
“Would you mind calling me Abel?” he asked her.
“Abel?” she said as if she were trying the name on like a new glove. “But your name is Wladek.”
“It was, but it isn’t any longer. My name is Abel Rosnovski.”
“Abel’s a funny name, but it suits you,” she said. “Thank you for dinner, Abel. It was lovely to see you again. Good night.”
“Good night, Zaphia,” he said, and she was gone.
He watched her disappear through the servants’ entrance; then he walked slowly around the block and into the hotel by the front entrance. Suddenly—and not for the first time in his life—he felt very lonely.
Abel spent the weekend thinking about Zaphia and the images associated with her—the stench of the steerage quarters, the confused queues of immigrants on Ellis Island and, above all, their brief but passionate encounter in the lifeboat. He took all his meals in the hotel dining room to be near her and to study the boyfriend, who, Abel had concluded, must be the young, pimply one. He thought he had pimples, he hoped he had pimples—yes, he did have pimples. He was, regrettably, the best-looking boy among the waiters, pimples notwithstanding.
Abel wanted to take Zaphia out on Saturday, but she was working all day. Nevertheless, he managed to accompany her to church on Sunday morning and listened with mingled nostalgia and exasperation to the Polish priest intoning the unforgotten words of the Mass. It was the first time Abel had been in a church since his days at the castle in Poland. At that time he had yet to see or endure the cruelty that now made it impossible for him to believe in any benevolent deity. His reward for attending church came when Zaphia allowed him to hold her hand as they walked back toward the hotel together.
“Have you thought any more about the position at the Stevens?” she inquired.
“I’ll know first thing tomorrow morning what their final decision is.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, Abel. I’m sure you would make a very good assistant manager.”
“Thank you,” said Abel, realizing they had been talking about different things.
“Would you like to have supper with my cousins tonight?” Zaphia asked. “I always spend Sunday evening with them.”
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”
Zaphia’s cousins lived right near The Sausage in the heart of the city. Her cousins were very impressed when she arrived with a Polish friend who drove a new Buick. The family, as Zaphia called them, consisted of two sisters, Katya and Janina, and Katya’s husband, Janek. Abel presented the sisters with a bunch of roses and then sat down and answered, in fluent Polish, all their questions about his future prospects. Zaphia was obviously embarrassed, but Abel knew the same would be required of any boyfriend in any Polish-American household. Aware that Janek’s envious eyes never left him, he made an effort to play down his progress since his early days in the butcher shop. Katya served a simple Polish meal of pierogi and bigos, which Abel would have eaten with a good deal more relish fifteen years earlier. He gave Janek up as a bad job and concentrated on making the sisters approve of him. It looked as though they did. Perhaps they also approved of the pimply youth. No, they couldn’t; he wasn’t even Polish—or maybe he was. Abel didn’t know his name and had never heard him speak.
On the way back to the Stevens, Zaphia asked, with a flash of the coquettishness he remembered, if it was considered safe to drive a motor car and hold a lady’s hand at the same time. Abel laughed and put his hand back on the steering wheel for the rest of the drive back to the hotel.
“Will you have time to see me tomorrow?” he asked.
“I hope so, Abel,” she said. “Perhaps by then you’ll be my boss. Good luck anyway.”
He smiled to himself as he watched her go through the back door, wondering how she would feel if she knew the real consequences of the next day’s outcome. He did not move until she had disappeared through the service entrance.
“Assistant manager, indeed,” he said, laughing out loud as he climbed into bed, wondering what Curtis Fenton’s news would bring in the morning, trying to put Zaphia out of his mind as he threw his pillow onto the floor.
He woke a few minutes before five the next day. The. room was still dark when he called for the early edition of the Tribune. He went through the motions of reading the financial section and was dressed and ready for breakfast when the restaurant opened at seven o’clock. Zaphia was not serving in the main dining room this morning, but the pimply boyfriend was, which Abel took to be a bad omen. After breakfast he returned to his room; had he but known, only five minutes before Zaphia came on duty. He checked his tie in the mirror for the twentieth time and once again looked at his watch. He estimated that if he walked very slowly, he would arrive at the bank as the doors were opening. In fact, he arrived five minutes early and walked once around the block, staring aimlessly into store windows at expensive jewelry and radios and hand-tailored suits. Would he ever be able to afford clothes like that? he wondered. He arrived back at the bank at four minutes past nine.
“Mr. Fenton is not free at the moment. Can you come back in half an hour or would you prefer to wait?” the secretary asked.
“I’ll come back,” said Abel, not wishing to appear overanxious.
It was the longest thirty minutes he could remember since he had come to Chicago. He studied every shop window on La Salle Street, even the women’s clothes, which made him think happily of Zaphia.
On his return to the Continental Trust the secretary informed him that Fenton would see him now.
Abel, his hands sweating, walked into the bank manager’s office.
“Good morning, Mr. Rosnovski. Do have a seat.”
Curtis Fenton took a file out of his desk. Abel could see “Confidential” written across the cover.
“Now,” the older man began, “I hope you will find my news is to your liking. The principal concerned is willing to go ahead with the purchase of the hotels on what I can only describe as favorable terms.”
“God Almighty!” said Abel.
Curtis Fenton pretended not to hear him and continued: “In fact, most favorable terms. He will be responsible for putting up the full two million required to clear Mr. Leroy’s debt, while at the same time he will form a new company with you in which the shares will be split sixty percent to him and forty percent to you. Your forty percent is therefore valued at eight hundred thousand dollars, which will be treated as a loan to you by the new company, a loan that will be made for a term not to exceed ten years, at four percent, which can be paid off from the company profits at the same rate. That is to say, if the company was to make in any one year a profit of one hundred thousand dollars, forty thousand of that profit would be set against your eight hundred thousand debt, plus the four percent interest. If you clear the loan of eight hundred thousand in under ten years you will be given the one-time option of buying the remaining sixty percent of the company for a further three million dollars. This would give my client a first-class return on his investment and you the opportunity to own the Richmond Group outright.
“In addition to this, you will receive a salary of five thousand dollars per annum, and your position as president of the group will give you complete day-to-day control of the hotels. You will be asked to refer to me only on matters concerning finance. I have been entrusted with the task of repo
rting directly to your principal and he has asked me to represent his interests on the board of the new Richmond Group. I have been happy to comply with this stipulation. My client does not wish to be involved personally. As I have said before, there might be a conflict of professional interests for him in this transaction, which I am sure you will thoroughly understand. He also insists that you will at no time make any attempt to discover his identity. He will give you fourteen days to consider his terms, on which there can be no negotiation, as he considers—and I must agree with him—that he is striking a more than fair bargain.”
Abel could not speak.
“Pray do say something, Mr. Rosnovski.”
“I don’t need fourteen days to make a decision,” said Abel finally. “I accept your client’s terms. Please thank him and tell him I will certainly respect his request for anonymity.”
“That’s splendid,” said Curtis Fenton, permitting himself a wry smile. “Now, a few small points. The accounts for all the hotels in the group will be placed with Continental Trust affiliates and the main account will be here in this office under my direct control. I will, in turn, receive one thousand dollars a year as a director of the new company.”
“I’m glad you’re going to get something out of the deal,” said Abel.
“I beg your pardon?” said the banker.
“I’ll be pleased to be working with you, Mr. Fenton.”
“Your principal has also placed two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on deposit with the bank to be used as the day-to-day finance for the running of the hotels during the next few months. This will also be regarded as a loan at four percent. You are to advise me if this amount turns out to be insufficient for your needs. I consider it would enhance your reputation with my client if you found the two hundred and fifty thousand to be sufficient.”
“I shall bear that in mind,” said Abel, solemnly trying to imitate the banker’s locution.
Curtis Fenton opened a desk drawer and produced a large Cuban cigar.
“Do you smoke?”
“Yes,” said Abel, who had never smoked a cigar before in his life.
He coughed himself down La Salle Street all the way back to the Stevens. David Maxton was standing proprietarily in the foyer of the hotel as Abel arrived. Abel stubbed out his half-finished cigar with some relief and walked over to him.
“Mr. Rosnovski, you look a happy man this morning.”
“I am, sir, and I am only sorry that I will not be working for you as the manager of this hotel.”
“Then so am I, Mr. Rosnovski, but frankly the news doesn’t surprise me.”
“Thank you for everything,” said Abel, injecting as much feeling as he could into the little phrase and the look with which he accompanied it.
He left David Maxton and went into the dining room in search of Zaphia, but she had already gone off duty. Abel took the elevator to his room, relit the cigar, took a cautious puff and called Kane and Cabot. A secretary put him through to William Kane.
“Mr. Kane, I have found it possible to raise the money required for me to take over ownership of the Richmond Group. A Mr. Curtis Fenton of Continental Trust will be in touch with you later today to provide you with the details. There will therefore be no necessity to place the hotels for sale on the open market.”
There was a short pause. Abel thought with satisfaction how galling his news must be to William Kane.
“Thank you for keeping me informed, Mr. Rosnovski. May I say how delighted I am that you found someone to back you. I wish you every success for the future.”
“Which is more than I wish you, Mr. Kane.”
Abel put the phone down, lay on his bed and thought about the future.
“One day,” he promised the ceiling, “I am going to buy your goddamn bank and make you want to jump out of a hotel bedroom on the seventeenth floor.” He picked up the phone again and asked the girl on the switchboard to get him Mr. Henry Osborne at Great Western Casualty.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
William put the telephone back on the hook, more amused than annoyed by Abel Rosnovski’s pugnacious approach. He was sorry that he had been unable to persuade the bank to support the little Pole who believed so strongly that he could pull the Richmond Group through. He fulfilled his remaining responsibilities by informing the Financial Committee that Abel Rosnovski had found a backer, preparing the legal documents for the takeover of the hotels and then finally closing the bank’s file on the Richmond Group.
William was delighted when Matthew arrived in Boston a few days later to take up his position as manager of the bank’s investment department. Charles Lester had made no secret that he considered any professional expertise gained in a rival establishment a valuable part of Matthew’s long-term preparation to be chairman of Lester’s. William’s work load was instantly halved, but his time became even more fully occupied. He found himself dragged, protesting in mock horror, onto tennis courts and into swimming pools at every available free moment; only Matthew’s suggestion of a ski trip to Vermont brought a determined “No” from William, but the sudden activity at least served to somewhat alleviate his loneliness and impatience to be with Kate.
Matthew was frankly incredulous. “I must meet the woman who can make William Kane daydream at a board meeting that’s discussing whether the bank should buy more gold.”
“Wait till you see her, Matthew. I think you’ll agree she’s a better investment than gold.”
“I believe you. I just don’t want to be the one to tell Susan. She still thinks you’re the only man for her in the world.”
William laughed. It had never crossed his mind.
The little pile of letters from Kate, which had been growing weekly, lay in the locked drawer of William’s bureau in the Red House. He read them over again and again and soon knew them all virtually by heart. At last the one he had been waiting for came, appropriately dated.
Buckhurst Park
14 February 1930
Dearest William,
Finally I have packed up, sold off, given away or otherwise disposed of everything left here and I shall be coming up to Boston on the nineteenth. I am almost frightened at the thought of seeing you again. What if this whole marvelous enchantment bursts like a bubble in the cold of a winter on the Eastern Seaboard? Dear God, I hope not. I can’t be sure how I would have gotten through these lonely months but for you.
With love,
Kate
The night before Kate was due to arrive, William promised himself that he would not rush her into anything that either of them might later regret. It was impossible for him to assess the extent to which her feelings might have developed while she was in a transient state of mind engendered by her husband’s death, as he told Matthew.
“Stop being so pathetic,” said Matthew. “You’re in love and you may as well face that fact.”
When he first spotted Kate at the station, William almost abandoned his cautious intentions there and then in the joy of watching that simple smile light up her face. He pushed toward her through the throng of travelers and clasped her so firmly in his arms that she could barely breathe.
“Welcome home, Kate.”
William was about to kiss her when she drew away. He was a little surprised.
“William, I don’t think you’ve met my parents.”
That night William dined with Kate’s family and then saw her every day that he could escape from the bank’s problems and Matthew’s tennis racket, even if only for a couple of hours. After Matthew had met Kate for the first time, he offered William all his gold shares in exchange for one Kate.
“I never undersell,” replied William, “and unlike you, Matthew, I have never been interested in quantity—only quality.”
“Then I insist you tell me,” demanded Matthew, “where you find someone as valuable as Kate?”
“In the liquidation department, where else?” replied William.
“Turn her into a personal asset, William, quickly, b
ecause if you don’t, you can be sure I will.”
Kane and Cabot’s net loss from the 1929 crash came out at over $7 million, which turned out to be about average for a bank its size. Many not much smaller banks had gone under, and William found himself conducting a sustained holding operation throughout 1930, which kept him under constant pressure.
When Franklin D. Roosevelt was elected President of the United States on a ticket of relief, recovery and reform, William feared that the New Deal would have little to offer Kane and Cabot. Business picked up very slowly and William found himself planning tentatively for expansion.
Meanwhile Tony Simmons, still running the London office, had broadened the scope of its activities and had made a respectable profit for Kane and Cabot during his first two years. His achievements looked all the better against those of William, who had barely been able to break even during the same period.
Late in 1932, Alan Lloyd recalled Tony Simmons to Boston to make a full report to the board on the bank’s activities in London. No sooner had Simmons reappeared than he announced his intention of running for the chairmanship when Alan Lloyd retired in fifteen months’ time. William was completely taken by surprise, for he had dismissed Simmons’s chances when he had disappeared to London under a small cloud. It seemed to William unfair that that cloud had been dispelled, not by Simmons’s acuity but simply because the British economy had been a little less paralyzed than American business during the same period.
Tony Simmons returned to London for a further successful year and addressed the first board meeting, after his return, in a blaze of glory, with the announcement that the final third year’s figures for the London office would show a profit of over a million dollars, a new record. William had to announce a considerably smaller profit for the same period. The abruptness of Tony Simmons’s return to favor left William with only a year in which to persuade the board that they should support him before his opponent’s momentum became unstoppable.
Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Page 30
