Kane and Abel Read online

  ‘Naturally,’ said Abel.

  ‘But I’m hoping,’ continued Hogan, ‘that in your case everything will be confirmed by late March or early April. Allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations, Mr Rosnovski. I’m confident you’ll serve the President with distinction.’

  Abel watched Hogan literally run off to be sure he caught up with the Kennedy party, which was already climbing into a fleet of open-doored limousines.

  ‘You look pleased with yourself,’ said one of Abel’s Polish friends as he returned to his table and sat down to attack a tough steak, which would not have been allowed inside a Baron hotel. ‘Did Kennedy invite you to be his new Secretary of State?’

  They all laughed.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Abel. ‘But the Secretary of State could be my new boss,’ he added under his breath.

  He flew back to New York the next morning after visiting the Polish Chapel of Our Lady of Czestochowa in the National Shrine. It made him think of both Florentynas.

  Washington National airport was chaos, and Abel eventually arrived back at the New York Baron three hours later than planned. George joined him for dinner, and knew that all must have gone well when Abel ordered a magnum of Dom Perignon.

  ‘Tonight we celebrate,’ said Abel. ‘I saw Hogan at the ball, and my appointment will be confirmed in the next few weeks. The official announcement will probably be made soon after I get back from the Middle East.’

  ‘Congratulations, Abel. There’s no one who deserves the honour more.’

  ‘Thank you, George. I can assure you your reward will not be in heaven, because when it’s all official, I’m going to appoint you as acting president of the Baron Group during my absence.’

  George poured himself a glass of champagne. They were already halfway through the bottle.

  ‘How long do you think you’ll be away this time, Abel?’

  ‘Only three weeks. I want to check that I’m not being robbed blind in the Middle East before I go on to Turkey to open the Istanbul Baron. I think I’ll take in London and Paris on the way.’

  George poured Abel another glass of champagne.

  Abel spent three more days in England than planned, trying to sort out the problems of the London Baron with a manager who seemed to blame everything that went wrong on the British trade unions. The London Baron had turned out to be one of Abel’s few failures, although he could never put his finger on why the hotel continually lost money. He would have considered closing it, but the Baron Group had to have a presence in England’s capital, even if it was a loss leader. Once again he fired the manager, made a new appointment and flew off to Paris.

  The French capital presented a striking contrast. The Paris Baron on the Boulevard Raspail was one of the most successful in the group, and he’d once admitted to Florentyna, as reluctantly as a parent admits to having a favourite child, that it was his favourite hotel. He found everything as he would have wanted it, and spent only two days there before flying on to the Middle East.

  Abel now had sites in five of the Persian Gulf States, but only the Riyadh Baron was under construction. If he’d been a younger man, he would have stayed in the Middle East for a couple of years and sorted things out. But he couldn’t abide the sand or the heat, or the difficulty of getting hold of a double whiskey from someone who wouldn’t get arrested, so he left matters in the hands of one of his young assistant vice presidents, and flew on to Turkey.

  Abel had visited Turkey several times during the past few years keeping an eye on the progress of the Istanbul Baron. For him there would always be something special about Constantinople, as he remembered the ancient city. He was looking forward to opening a Baron in the country from which he had sailed to begin his new life in America.

  Before he had even started unpacking his suitcase in yet another Presidential Suite, Abel found fifteen invitations awaiting his reply. It was always the same around the time of a hotel opening: a galaxy of freeloaders hoping to be invited to any opening-night party appeared as if by magic. On this occasion, however, two of the invitations came as agreeable surprises to Abel, as they were both from men who certainly could not be classified as freeloaders, namely the ambassadors of America and Britain. The invitation to the old British Consulate was particularly irresistible, as he had not been inside the building for forty years.

  That evening Abel dined as the guest of Sir Bernard Burrows, Her Majesty’s Ambassador to Turkey. To his surprise Abel found he’d been placed on the right of the Ambassador’s wife, an honour he had never been granted in the past. When dinner was over he observed the quaint English tradition of the ladies leaving the room while the gentlemen chatted about more weighty matters over cigars and port or brandy.

  Abel was invited to join Fletcher Warren, the American Ambassador, in the privacy of Sir Bernard’s study. Sir Bernard took Warren to task for inviting the Chicago Baron to dinner before he’d dined at his own embassy.

  ‘The British have always been a presumptuous race,’ said Warren, lighting a large Cuban cigar.

  ‘I’ll say one thing for the Americans,’ said Sir Bernard, ‘they don’t know when they’re fairly beaten.’

  Abel listened to the two diplomats’ banter, wondering why he had been included in such a private gathering. Sir Bernard offered him a glass of vintage port, and Warren raised his glass.

  ‘To Abel Rosnovski.’

  Sir Bernard also raised his glass. ‘I understand that congratulations are in order,’ he said.

  Abel reddened and looked hastily towards Warren, hoping he would help him out.

  ‘Oh, have I let the cat out of the bag, Fletcher?’ said Sir Bernard. ‘You told me the appointment was common knowledge, old chap.’

  ‘Fairly common,’ said Warren. ‘Not that the British can ever keep a secret for long.’

  ‘Is that why your lot took such a devil of a time to discover we were at war with Germany?’ said Sir Bernard.

  ‘And then moved in to make sure of the victory?’

  ‘And grab the glory,’ said Sir Bernard.

  The American Ambassador laughed. ‘I’m told the official announcement will be made in the next few days.’

  Both men looked at Abel, who remained silent.

  ‘Well then, may I be the first to congratulate you, Your Excellency,’ said Sir Bernard. ‘I wish you every success in your new appointment.’

  Abel flushed to hear aloud the appellation he had whispered so often to his shaving mirror during the past few months. ‘You’ll have to get used to being called Your Excellency, you know,’ continued the British Ambassador. ‘And a whole lot of worse things than that. Particularly all the damned functions you’ll have to attend night and day. If you have a weight problem now, it will be nothing compared to the one you’ll have when you finish your term of office. You may live to be grateful for the Cold War. The food in the Eastern Bloc is so awful you might even end up losing weight.’

  The American Ambassador smiled. ‘Well done, Abel, and may I add my best wishes for your continued success. When were you last in Poland?’

  ‘I’ve only been back once, for a short visit a few years ago,’ said Abel. ‘I’ve wanted to return ever since.’

  ‘Well, you’ll be returning in triumph,’ said Warren. ‘Are you familiar with our embassy in Warsaw?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ admitted Abel.

  ‘Not a bad location,’ said Sir Bernard, ‘remembering you colonials couldn’t get a foothold in Europe until after the Second World War. But the accommodation is appalling. I shall expect you to do something about that, Mr Rosnovski. The only thing for it is to build a Baron hotel in Warsaw. That’s the least they’ll expect from an expatriate.’

  Abel sat in a state of euphoria, laughing and enjoying Sir Bernard’s feeble jokes. He knew he had drunk a little too much port, which made him feel at ease with himself and the world. He couldn’t wait to tell Florentyna the news, now that the appointment would soon be official. She would be so proud of him. He decide