Kane and Abel Read online

  ‘Thank you, Mr Rosnovski, that’s most generous of you.’

  ‘No need to thank me, Mr Chairman,’ said Abel. ‘It’s no more than we agreed when you sold me your two per cent.’

  PART EIGHT

  1963-1967

  57

  ABEL WAS surprised to find how little satisfaction his final triumph gave him. A Pyrrhic victory.

  George tried to persuade him to travel to Warsaw and look over possible sites for the new Baron, but he wasn’t interested. As he grew older, he became fearful of dying abroad having never seen Florentyna again, and for months he showed scant interest in the group’s activities.

  When John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963, Abel became even more depressed, and began to fear for his adopted country. Eventually George managed to convince him that a trip abroad could do no harm, and that he might return invigorated.

  Abel took George’s advice and flew directly to Warsaw, something he never thought he’d do in his lifetime. His command of the language and long history of fighting for Polish recognition helped him to secure a confidential agreement from the Government to build the first Baron in a communist country. He was pleased to beat Conrad Hilton and Charles Forte to be the first international hotelier behind the Iron Curtain. But he couldn’t help thinking … and it didn’t help when Lyndon Johnson appointed John Gronowski to be the first Polish-American ambassador. But nothing seemed to give him any real satisfaction any more. He may have defeated William Kane, but he’d lost his daughter, and he suspected Kane was having the same problem with his son.

  After the Warsaw deal was signed he roamed the world, staying in his existing hotels, watching the construction of new ones and selecting sites for ones he may never live to see. In Cape Town he opened the first Baron in South Africa, then he flew to Germany to open another in Du sseldorf. He then lingered for six months in his favourite Baron, in Paris, roaming the streets by day and attending the opera and the theatre at night, hoping to revive happy memories of the days he spent there with Florentyna.

  Finally he left Paris and returned to America. As he descended the metal steps of an Air France 707 at Kennedy International Airport, his back hunched and his bald head covered with a black hat, nobody recognized him. George, as always, was there to greet him; loyal, honest George, looking quite a bit older.

  On the drive into Manhattan, George brought him up to date with the group news. The profits continued to grow as its keen young executives thrust forward in every major country in the world. Seventy-two hotels with a staff of over 22,000. Abel didn’t seem to be listening. He only wanted news of Florentyna.

  ‘She’s well,’ said George. ‘She’s coming to New York early next year.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Abel, suddenly excited.

  ‘She’s opening one of her shops on Fifth Avenue.’

  ‘Fifth Avenue? Lucky you didn’t take that bet, George.’

  George smiled. ‘The eleventh Florentyna’s.’

  ‘Have you seen her, George?’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

  ‘Is she well, is she happy?’

  ‘Both of them are well and happy, and so successful. Abel, you should be very proud of them. Your grandson is quite a boy, and as for your granddaughter - she’s the image of Florentyna when she was that age.’

  ‘Will she see me?’

  ‘Will you agree to meet her husband?’

  ‘No, George. I can never meet that boy, not while his father’s still alive.’

  ‘What if you die first?’

  ‘You mustn’t believe everything you read in the Bible,’ said Abel. They drove in silence back to the hotel, and Abel dined alone in his suite that night.

  For the next six months, he rarely left the penthouse.

  58

  WHEN FLORENTYNA KANE opened her new boutique on Fifth Avenue in March 1967, everyone in New York seemed to be there to join in the celebration, except William Kane and Abel Rosnovski.

  Kate tucked William up in bed and left him muttering to himself while she, Virginia and Lucy went off to attend the opening. George left Abel alone in his suite and set off for Fifth Avenue. He had tried to talk him into coming along with him. Abel grunted that his daughter had managed to open ten shops without him, and one more wouldn’t make any difference. George told him he was a stubborn old fool and left for Fifth Avenue on his own. Abel knew he was right.

  George arrived at the shop to find a magnificent modern boutique with thick carpets and the latest Swedish furniture - it reminded him of the way Abel used to do things. Florentyna was wearing a long green gown with the now famous double F on its high collar. She handed George a glass of champagne and introduced him to Kate and Lucy Kane, who were chatting with Zaphia. Kate and Lucy were clearly very happy, and Virginia surprised George by asking after Mr Rosnovski.

  ‘I told him he was a stubborn old fool to miss such a good party. Is Mr Kane here?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Kate. ‘I’m afraid he’s another stubborn old fool.’

  William was still muttering angrily at The New York Times, something about Johnson pulling his punches in Vietnam, when he folded the newspaper and dragged himself out of bed. He dressed slowly, very slowly, before inspecting himself in the mirror. He looked like a banker. He scowled. How else should he look? He walked slowly down the stairs. He put on a heavy black overcoat and his old Homburg hat, picked up his black walking stick with the silver handle - the one Rupert Cork-Smith had left him - and somehow got himself out onto the street. It was the first time he had been out on his own for the best part of three years. The maid was surprised to see Mr Kane leaving the house unaccompanied.

  It was an unusually warm spring evening, but William still felt the cold after being stuck in the house for so long. It took him a considerable time to walk to Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Sixth Street, each pace taking a little longer, and when he eventually made it he found the crowd inside Florentyna’s was spilling out onto the sidewalk. He didn’t feel he had the strength to fight his way through, so he stood on the sidewalk and watched. Young people, happy and excited, were thrusting their way into Florentyna Kane’s fashionable boutique. Some of the girls were wearing the new mini skirts from London. What next, thought William. Then he spotted Richard talking to Kate. He’d grown into such a fine-looking man - tall, confident and relaxed; he had an air of authority about him that reminded William of his own father. But in all the bustle and movement inside the shop, he couldn’t work out which one was Florentyna. He stood there for nearly an hour enjoying the comings and goings, regretting the stubborn years he had thrown away.

  The March wind was beginning to race down Fifth Avenue. He’d forgotten how cold that wind could be. He turned his collar up. He must get home, because they were all coming to dinner that night, and he was going to meet Florentyna and the grandchildren for the first time, and be reunited with his beloved son. He had told Kate what a fool he’d been, and begged her forgiveness. All she said was, ‘I’ll always love you.’ Florentyna had written to him. Such a kind and generous letter. She had been so understanding about the past, and had ended with ‘I can’t wait to meet you’.

  He must get home. Kate would be cross with him if she discovered he’d been out on his own in that cold wind. They could tell him all about the opening over dinner. He wouldn’t let them know he’d been there - that would always be his secret.

  As he turned to go home, he saw an old man standing a few yards away in a black overcoat, with his hat pulled down over his head and a scarf around his neck. Not a night for old men, thought William as he walked towards him. And then he saw the silver band on his wrist. In a flash it all came back to him, fitting into place for the first time. Tea at the Plaza, later at his office in Boston, then again on a battlefield in Germany, and now on Fifth Avenue. The man must have been standing there for some time, because his face was red and raw from the wind. He stared at William out of those unmistakable blue eyes. They were now only a few feet apart. As Will