Kane and Abel Read online

  He also turned out to have his father’s head on his shoulders. Clearly he’d been fully briefed on the Rosnovski-Osborne file, and was able to answer all of William’s questions. William explained exactly what he now required.

  ‘An immediate report and a further update every three months. Secrecy is of paramount importance. I need to find out why Abel Rosnovski is buying Lester’s stock. Does he still feel I’m responsible for Davis Leroy’s death? Is he continuing his battle with Kane and Cabot even now that it’s part of Lester’s? What role is Henry Osborne playing in all this? Would a meeting between myself and Rosnovski help, especially if I told him it was the bank, and not me, who refused to support the Richmond Group?’

  Thaddeus Cohen’s pen was scratching away as furiously as his father’s had before him.

  ‘All these questions must be answered as quickly as possible so I can decide if it’s necessary to inform my board.’

  Thaddeus Cohen gave his father’s shy smile as he shut his briefcase. ‘I’m sorry that you should be troubled in this way while you’re still convalescing. I’ll report back to you as soon as I can ascertain the facts.’ He paused at the door. ‘I greatly admire what you did at Remagen.’

  On May 7, 1946, Abel travelled to New York to celebrate the first anniversary of VE Day. He had laid on a dinner for more than a thousand Polish-American veterans to be held at the Baron hotel, and had invited General Kazimierz Sosnkowski, commander in chief of the Polish Forces in France, to be the guest of honour. He had looked forward to the event for weeks, and invited Florentyna to accompany him to New York, as Zaphia made it clear that she didn’t want to come.

  On the night of the celebration, the banquet room of the New York Baron was magnificently adorned. Each of the 120 tables was decorated with the stars and stripes of America as well as the white and red of the Polish national flag. Huge photographs of Eisenhower, Patton, Bradley, Clark, Paderewski and Sikorsky adorned the walls. Abel sat at the centre of the head table with the general on his right and Florentyna on his left.

  After a seven-course meal, General Sosnkowski rose to address the gathering. He announced that Colonel Rosnovski had been made a Life President of the Polish Veterans’ Society, in acknowledgement of the personal sacrifices he had made for the Polish-American cause, and in particular his generous gift of the New York Baron to the US Army throughout the entire duration of the war. Someone who had drunk a little too much shouted from the back of the room, ‘Those of us who survived the Germans somehow managed to survive Abel’s cooking as well.’

  The thousand veterans laughed, cheered and toasted Abel in Danzig vodka. But they fell silent when the general spoke movingly of the plight of post-war Poland, now in the grip of Stalinist Russia, and urged his fellow expatriates to be tireless in their campaign to secure sovereignty for their native land. Abel, like everyone else in the room, wanted to believe that Poland could one day be free again. He also dreamed of seeing his castle restored to him, but doubted if that would ever be possible following Stalin’s coup at Yalta.

  The general went on to remind the guests that Polish-Americans had, per capita, sacrificed more lives to the war than any other ethnic group in the United States. ‘How many Americans know that Poland lost six million of her people while Czechoslovakia lost one hundred thousand? Some have said we were stupid not to surrender when we must have known we were beaten. How could a nation that staged a cavalry charge against the might of the Nazi tanks ever believe it was beaten? And, my friends, I tell you, we’ll never be defeated.’

  The general ended by telling his intent audience the story of how Abel had led a band of men to rescue wounded troops at the battle of Remagen. When he had finished, the veterans stood and cheered the two men resoundingly. Florentyna’s smile revealed how proud she was of her father.

  Abel was surprised when his experiences on the battlefield at Remagen hit the papers the next morning, because Polish achievements were rarely reported in any medium other than Dziennik Zwiazkowy. He basked in his newfound glory as an unsung American hero, and spent most of the day posing for photographers and giving interviews.

  By the evening, when the sun had finally disappeared, Abel felt a sense of anticlimax. The general had flown to Los Angeles for another function, Florentyna had returned to school at Lake Forest, George was in Chicago and Henry Osborne in Washington. The New York Baron suddenly seemed large and empty, but Abel felt no desire to return to Chicago, and Zaphia.

  He decided to have an early dinner, and to go over the weekly reports from the other hotels in the group before retiring to the penthouse. He seldom ate alone in his private suite, preferring to eat in one of the dining rooms - which was a sure way of keeping in constant contact with hotel operations. The more hotels he acquired and built, the more he feared losing touch with his staff on the ground.

  He took the elevator downstairs and stopped at the reception desk to ask how many guests were booked for the night, but was distracted by a striking woman signing a registration form. He could have sworn he knew her, but he was unable to get a good look at her face. When she had finished writing, she turned and smiled at him.

  ‘Abel,’ she said. ‘How marvellous to see you.’

  ‘Good God, Melanie. I hardly recognized you.’

  ‘No one could fail to recognize you, Abel.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you were in New York.’

  ‘Only overnight. I’m here on business for my magazine.’

  ‘You’re a journalist?’ asked Abel.

  ‘No, I’m the economic advisor to a group of magazines with headquarters in Dallas. I’m here on a market research project.’

  ‘Very impressive.’

  ‘I can assure you it isn’t. But it keeps me out of mischief.’

  ‘Are you free for dinner by any chance?’

  ‘What a nice idea, Abel. But I need a bath and a change of clothes, if you don’t mind waiting.’

  ‘Sure, I can wait. I’ll meet you in the dining room. Why don’t you join me in about an hour.’

  She smiled a second time, and followed a bellhop to the elevator. Abel became aware of her perfume as she walked away.

  He checked the dining room to be sure his table had fresh flowers, then went to the kitchen to select the dishes he thought she’d most enjoy. Finally he sat down at the corner table and waited impatiently. He found himself glancing at his watch every few minutes, and looking at the entrance hoping Melanie would appear. She took a little over an hour, but when the maitre d’ ushered her to his table it turned out to be worth the wait. She was wearing a long, clinging dress that shimmered and sparkled under the dining room lights in an unmistakably expensive way. She looked ravishing. Abel rose to greet her as a waiter opened a bottle of vintage Krug.

  ‘Welcome, Melanie,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘It’s good to see you still stay at the Baron.’

  ‘It’s good to see the Baron in person,’ she replied. ‘Especially on his day of triumph.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I read all about last night’s dinner in the New York Post, and how you risked your life to save the wounded at Remagen. They made you sound like a cross between Audie Murphy and the Unknown Soldier.’

  ‘It’s all rather exaggerated,’ said Abel.

  ‘I’ve never known you to be modest about anything, Abel, so I can only assume every word must be true.’

  ‘The truth is, I’ve always been a little frightened of you, Melanie.’

  ‘The Baron is frightened of someone? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Well, I’m no southern gentleman, as you once made only too clear.’

  ‘And you never stop reminding me.’ She smiled, teasingly. ‘Did you marry your nice Polish girl?’

  He poured her a second glass of champagne.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘How did that work out?’

  ‘Not so well. We’ve drifted apart, and in truth I’m to blame. Too many late nights.’

  ‘Wit