Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  The ball was interrupted by the entrance of John F. Kennedy and his beautiful wife, Jacqueline. They stayed about fifteen minutes, chatted with a few carefully selected people and then moved on. Although Abel didn’t actually speak with the President, even though he had left his table and placed himself strategically in Kennedy’s path, he did manage to have a word with Vincent Hogan as he was leaving with the Kennedy entourage.

  “Mr. Rosnovski, what a fortuitous meeting.”

  Abel would have liked to explain to the boy that with him nothing was fortuitous, but now was neither the time nor the place. Hogan took Abel’s arm and guided him quickly behind a large marble pillar.

  “I can’t say too much at the moment, Mr. Rosnovski, as I must stick with the President, but I think you can expect a call from us in the near future. Naturally, the President has rather a lot of appointments to deal with at the moment.”

  “Naturally,” said Abel.

  “But I am hoping,” continued Vincent Hogan, “that in your case everything will be confirmed by late March or early April. May I be the first to offer my congratulations, Mr. Rosnovski? I am confident you will serve the President well.”

  Abel watched Vincent 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. “Did Kennedy invite you to be his new Secretary of State?”

  They all laughed.

  “Not yet,” said Abel. “But he did tell me the accommodation in the White House was not in the same class as the Barons.”

  Abel flew back to New York the next morning after first 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 at the New York Baron three hours later than planned. George joined him for dinner and knew that all had gone well when Abel ordered a magnum of Dom Pérignon.

  “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. I know of no one who deserves the honor 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 acting president of the Baron Group in my absence.”

  George drank another 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 those Arabs aren’t robbing me blind and then go on to Turkey to open the Istanbul Baron. I think I’ll take in London and Paris on the way.”

  George poured more champagne.

  Abel spent three more days in England than he had originally planned, trying to sort out the London Baron’s problems with a manager who seemed to blame everything on the British unions. The London Baron had turned out to be one of Abel’s few failures, although he never could 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 city, so once again he fired the manager and made a new appointment.

  Paris presented a striking contrast. The hotel was one of his most successful in Europe and he’d once admitted to Florentyna, as reluctantly as a parent admits to having a favorite child, that the Paris Baron was his favorite hotel. Abel found everything on the Boulevard Raspail well organized and spent only two days in Paris before flying on to the Middle East.

  Abel now had sites in five of the Persian Gulf States, but only the Riyadh Baron had actually started construction. If he’d been a younger man, Abel would have stayed in the Middle East for a couple of years himself and straightened the Arabs out. But he couldn’t abide the sand or the heat or the uncertainty of the availability of a whiskey. He couldn’t stand the natives either. He left them to one of his young assistant vice presidents, who had been told that he would be allowed to return and manage the infidels in America only when Abel was sure he had proved a success with the holy and blessed ones in the Middle East.

  He left the poor assistant vice president in the richest private hell in the world and flew on to Turkey.

  Abel had visited Turkey several times during the past few years to watch the progress of the Istanbul Baron. For Abel, there would always be something special about Constantinople, as he remembered the city. He was looking forward to opening a new Baron in the country he had finally left to start a new life in America.

  While he was unpacking his suitcase in yet another Presidential Suite, Abel found fifteen invitations awaiting his reply. There always were several invitations about the time of a hotel opening; a galaxy of freeloaders who wanted to be invited to any opening night party appeared on the scene as if by magic. On this occasion, however, two of the dinner invitations came as an agreeable surprise to Abel from men who certainly could not be classified as freeloaders: namely, the ambassadors of America and Britain. The invitation to the old British embassy was particularly irresistible as he had not been inside the building for nearly forty years.

  That evening, Abel dined as the guest of Sir Bernard Burrows, Her Majesty’s Ambassador to Turkey. To his surprise he found that he had been placed at the right of the Ambassador’s wife, a privilege Abel had never been afforded in any other embassy in the past. When the dinner was over he observed the quaint English tradition by which the ladies left the room while the gentlemen sat together to smoke cigars and drink port or brandy. Abel was invited to join the American ambassador, Fletcher Warren, for port in Sir Bernard’s study. Sir Bernard was taking the American Ambassador to task for allowing him to have The Chicago Baron to dinner before he had.

  “The British have always been a presumptuous race,” said the American Ambassador, 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 Abel some vintage port, and the American Ambassador raised his glass.

  “To Abel Rosnovski,” he said.

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

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

  “Oh, have I let the cat out of the bag, Fletcher?” said Sir Bernard, turning to the American Ambassador. “You told me the appointment was common knowledge, old chap.”

  “Fairly common,” said Fletcher Warren. “Not that the British could ever keep a secret for very 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 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 happiness 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 be made to attend one after another. 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 yet live to be grateful for the Co