A Race to Splendor

by Ciji Ware

  “Of course they will! They already do. But my question to you is this: weren’t we partners building this hotel? Didn’t I treat you with respect?”

  “On this hotel, yes. The building of it at least. But you showed me little respect when you didn’t tell me the truth about what Kemp was up to these last few weeks.”

  J.D. pulled out his room key and opened the door to the owner’s suite.

  “It may be totally against your principles, but actually, I was being chivalrous,” he replied, leading her by the hand into his inner sanctum where a few lamps around the well-appointed room glowed their welcome.

  “I don’t want chivalry,” Amelia protested in exasperation, wondering whether she should sit on the love seat near the marble fireplace or remain standing. “I want always to be told the truth and I want equality.”

  J.D. set the champagne bottle on the mantel, shrugged off his dinner jacket, and folded it over a chair near a small desk positioned beneath a window that offered a sweeping view of the bay. Outside, the clear night sky sparkled with stars and moonlight illuminated the water all the way to Angel Island. “As I said before, I am an imperfect man, and perhaps a slow learner. I now stand corrected,” he acknowledged. “Absolute truth and equality you shall have.”

  “It’s not a commodity those of your gender find very easy to dispense,” she replied.

  “Oh, but I’m getting so much practice.” He turned and pulled her close, smiling against her hair. “I’ll tell you every single detail from now on. I’ll happily marry you or not marry you—or be your permanent, adoring fiancé—whatever you like.”

  Amelia allowed his words to revolve in her mind. She had half a notion to seize his face in her hands and kiss him, but drew herself up short.

  “Ah, so half ownership of the Bay View Hotel is better than none, is that it?” she replied, tilting her head back to appraise him closely. “You admitted earlier that you’ve at least considered the possibility that my father won the place back, fair and square the morning of the quake. Now that I proved he did, you’re making your best offer, is that it?”

  J.D. released her from his embrace, drew a frustrated breath, and gripped the back of the chair where he’d laid his dinner jacket.

  “Amelia… that card game was many moons ago. An earthquake and two fires ago. A lifetime ago. As I said before, I didn’t even know who you really were until we began to work together. And you have to admit that we’ve both worked extraordinarily hard to build this hotel and the one Kemp’s men blew up, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly, glad now they were alone where no one could overhear this prickly conversation.

  “And I’d also ask you to remember that I borrowed and schemed and cadged the money required to rebuild on this land. I used my last gold bar to buy the lot from the old woman’s estate. Then I spent every penny we found in the trunk on this place—I even agreed to buy those damned concrete cherubs from France you insisted upon! Don’t you think I deserve to own half?”

  A long silence grew between them. Finally, Amelia nodded slowly. “Yes. You deserve to own half. You earned it.”

  J.D. swiftly closed the gap between them and pulled her close again, a look of triumph gleaming in his dark eyes. “And what else do I deserve, since I love you madly, my dear?” he said with a chuckle.

  She gazed up at him, playing for time. “I’m not sure.”

  He loves me…

  And suddenly she knew now how much she’d grown to love a man capable of change, capable of understanding the struggles that she too had endured in her three decades of life. But still there were questions…

  Ignoring the comfort of his arms around her waist, she said, “I believe all the things you told me just now concerning the matters that have disturbed me from the time I’d returned from France, but it took you a very long time to reveal the truth of your side of things, J.D. How do I know you won’t shade unpleasant realities in the future?”

  “Because I won’t,” he said shortly, and she could tell he was torn between exasperation and feeling attacked. “Until a few minutes ago, you certainly weren’t in any hurry to reveal to me that you possessed all the cards of your father’s royal flush, or that you suspected that I’d abandoned a daughter to the Mission Home and slept with my father’s concubine,” he shot back. “I’d say much of your recent behavior constituted something close to fibbing—which is just what you’re accusing me of doing.”

  Amelia had to admit to herself that she had fibbed—quite a lot, actually—saying she wouldn’t be coming to the opening of the Bay View.

  As if reading her mind, J.D. pressed her further. “And what about your letter summarily informing me that you were fleeing to France without a word to me in person, even when you’d planned to come here all along? Would you call that honest?”

  Amelia felt a strong twinge of unadulterated guilt. “Well, it’s not the most aboveboard thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Ah ha! There’s no avoiding it, Amelia,” J.D. said, chucking her playfully under the chin. “You also told several fibs by commission and omission. Which means that you’re not perfect either.”

  Amelia took a few moments to mull over J.D.’s assertions.

  “Yes,” she replied finally, “I did exactly what you did. I shaded the truth for my own purposes and to protect my pride. And no. I’m not perfect either. Not by a long shot.”

  “Luckily I forgive you,” he said, kissing her soundly on the nose. “And you, me?”

  “Yes… but our agreement henceforth is to always put our cards on the table, yes?”

  “Yes,” he said solemnly.

  “However, I do, truly, need to go to France to see my mother. I think she’s lonely and sad and probably perilously close to penniless.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” he proposed. “I’d love for you to show me Paris.”

  “And just who’s going to run the Bay View?” she demanded, her glance sweeping the beautiful suite that had several duplicates throughout the hotel. “We’ve barely opened the doors. We have responsibilities, J.D.! And besides, what about Ezra Kemp? No one can afford to turn his back on that man for very long.” She wagged a finger at him. “And by the way, I want my revolver returned to me, if you please. Who knows how long Kemp and those ruffians of his will pose a danger?”

  “I’ll give you back your gun only on the condition that you’ll finally let me teach you how to aim it.” Amelia gave him an annoyed look. “My bet is, Kemp’ll have to lay low for a long while after tonight’s display,” J.D. predicted. “And besides, Spreckels’s good government group is very interested in his involvement with prostitution, extortion, and God knows what else. The odds are very good he’ll end up in jail.”

  “I don’t know, J.D.…” she murmured doubtfully. “I certainly think it’s wise if I avoid provoking Kemp by leaving immediately for France, but aren’t you taking a big risk not to stay here, see to the hotel, and keep an eye on our nemesis?”

  “Grady, Loy, and Shou Shou can run the back office. I’ll put your friend Damler on the payroll to keep an eye on the legal side of matters, and we’ll find someone to serve as a genial host for a few months.”

  Amelia looked around the room, feeling agitated by a keen sense of indecision.

  “Ah… perhaps Miss Bradshaw isn’t such a brazen hussy, after all,” J.D. ventured slyly. “Perhaps she can’t quite bring herself to travel openly with a man to whom she is not married or betrothed? Especially on a visit to her mother.”

  “That’s not it!” snapped Amelia. “I’m thinking.” And she began pacing in front of the fireplace.

  “Has your reluctance to have me accompany you to Paris have anything to do with the dashing Monsieur Lamballe?” J.D. asked, surprising Amelia both by his question and the stern directness of his tone.

  She felt a sudden, sweet compassion for this man who was so prepared to be slighted by the very people he cared for.

  “Oh, J.D., no… no!
If only you could have heard the speeches I have invented—in French—to let him know what I think of the man should I ever run into him again! I would dearly love to show you Paris… it’s just that I’m worried that—”

  She halted, mid-sentence, as J.D. reached into his inside jacket pocket and extracted an envelope.

  “Well, then, if you’re definitely going to France, there is no reason to delay. Here,” he said, handing her the packet.

  “What’s this?” she asked, turning over the envelope in her hands. “I’ve seen those pictures of you in China Alley, if that’s what’s in here. Kemp was kind enough to send them to me a few days ago.”

  “Ah… so you have seen them.”

  “I saw the real thing, remember?

  “You didn’t see me photographed with the little boy…”

  “It was obvious to me Kemp staged them.”

  “Go on then. Have a look at what’s inside.”

  Puzzled, she unsealed the flap and withdrew a single sheet of paper. “What is it?” she asked, and then as she saw the envelope’s contents, her hand began to tremble.

  J.D. pointed to the paper she held in her hand. “Yes, it’s the deed to the Bay View Hotel. Believe it or not, it survived the fire in a small iron box stashed inside your grandfather’s big metal safe. Whether or not you’ll do me the honor of taking me to Paris with you now, or marrying me, or living with me—or whatever the hell it is you prefer—I propose that I be the one to take a yearly percentage of the owner’s net profits for the work I did building this place—and that you be the sole proprietor.”

  Amelia stared at J.D. and then at the document she held between her shaking fingers. He must have retrieved the deed when he went into the safe to get the bottle of champagne.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly. “The place means as much to you now as it does to me.”

  J.D. gazed directly into her eyes and replied, “Because I want you to trust, for once in your life, that at least one man in your experience is capable of having your welfare at heart. I want you to trust me, and I need to prove to myself that I can trust you. It appears obvious that the only way we’ll get beyond our past is if I give you this deed and we go into business together, so here it is.”

  Amelia’s thumb rubbed against the raised, official seal on the yellowed document that contained her grandfather’s familiar signature as the first owner of record.

  “J.D., I’m… well, I’m stunned.”

  “And don’t you dare ever say that I put shackles on women.” He took a step closer, his arms at his sides.

  “Never?”

  “Never. Or that I like my women docile.” He rested both his hands on her shoulders.

  “I never said that.”

  “Well, then, prove it,” he challenged. “Take the deed, agree to pay me a yearly percentage, and then ask me to make love to you tonight, Miss Bradshaw.”

  Amelia’s eyes searched the fine, white scars above J.D.’s dark brows, wondering if she was risking the independence she’d worked so hard to achieve—or finally returning to the safe harbor that the Bay View Hotel had always represented in her life.

  “Well?” he repeated.

  Holding the deed in one hand and seizing one of his in her other, she led him past the wide doors and entered his bedroom, plush in its rich furnishings and bathed in soft lighting shed by amber-colored sconces on the wall.

  “Why, Miss Bradshaw,” J.D. said gesturing toward the bed, “you truly shock me.”

  “No I don’t,” she replied, pausing to shut the double doors. Turning toward him, she reverently set the deed on a nearby table and cupped his face in both her hands. For a few seconds, she ran the tips of her fingers over the raised scars on his forehead.

  “James Diaz Thayer, you madman—I’ll accept you only as a co-owner of this establishment—but I want you to put it in writing,” she added with a smile that softened the seriousness of the moment.

  “Yes, Amelia,” J.D. replied with mock resignation.

  “And will you do something else for me?” she asked sweetly, allowing her arms to fall to her side.

  “What?” he replied warily.

  “Please, please, open that bottle of champagne and then make love to me tonight.”

  Amelia could see the relief flooding his eyes now that all their cards were, indeed, finally on the table. It was his turn to raise his hands and frame her face as his lips brushed against hers.

  “Your servant, mademoiselle-signorina,” he murmured.

  “No… my partner,” she corrected in a whisper.

  Before he could deepen their kiss, a sudden explosion of colored lights shone through the large windows facing the bay. Startled by the loud blasts, Amelia instinctively ducked her head beneath J.D.’s chin and felt his arms wrap protectively around her torso. They held on to each other, bracing for another blast.

  “Oh good Lord!” she exclaimed.

  “The fireworks!” they said simultaneously. They both inhaled a steadying breath and then melded together again, this time in a relieved embrace.

  “For a second there, it sounded like that horrible dynamite the army used on the first day of the fire,” Amelia murmured against his chest. “I’d totally forgotten that it’s the Fourth of July.”

  She could only imagine the ohs and ahs bursting from the lips of their guests downstairs enjoying the pyrotechnics being launched from Fort Mason at the water’s edge. They watched the breathtaking display until the last Roman candle burnt itself out and only the stars lit up the night sky.

  J.D. put an arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the big brass bed on the far side of the room.

  “My darling Miss Architect… now that we know we aren’t being assaulted by explosions, quakes, or fire, may I have the pleasure of spending our second night together in Sears and Roebuck’s finest?”

  In answer, Amelia pressed herself against the full length of his tall frame. “Oh yes… but in future, can we not wait so long between such illicit assignations?”

  “Illicit? Why, I intend to make an honest woman of you.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.”

  J.D. only smiled and swiftly began to divest her of her evening’s finery, unfastening the tiny row of buttons marching down her back.

  “Did you like my gown?” she asked, suddenly feeling bashful as the luxurious fabric fell away from her body.

  “You wore this wickedly seductive dress on purpose, didn’t you?” J.D. whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he began to pull pins from her upswept hairstyle. “You deliberately wanted me to know what I’d be missing if I married poor Matilda.”

  “What a mind reader you are,” she marveled, luxuriating in the feeling of her long hair falling against her shoulders while a flood of confidence took hold at the thought of how she’d stood her ground until J.D. had satisfactorily explained his reasons for the planned nuptials that seemed a million years ago.

  She slowly turned to face him clad in only her underclothes. J.D.’s gaze surveyed her from toes to forehead as he had that magical night in his makeshift living quarters in the basement.

  “So beautiful, Miss Architect… so very lovely you are.”

  Then, without further comment, he leaned forward and kissed in turn the tops of each breast mounded above her corset’s French lace trim.

  “I thought you didn’t wear these contraptions anymore?” he teased as his hands worked feverishly to free her from her laced stays.

  “I don them only when I need to keep my guard up or my dress on—as I did tonight.”

  “Well, please observe, mademoiselle, how easily I have now breached your line of defense.”

  Amelia and J.D. both smiled as the last of her undergarments fell to the floor, joining her silk dress, shift, and petticoats in a frothy pile at their feet. J.D. had his dress shirt off in a trice.

  “And now, Monsieur Thayer,” she said, absorbing the sight of his beautiful bronze torso, “wo
uld you like me to show you what you might have missed?” she asked, boldly reaching for the button on his dress trousers.

  “Yes, my dearest Amelia. Please do refresh my memory as to your wicked, wicked ways.”

  “And you’ll do the same?” Amelia asked, smiling up at him.

  “Of course,” he replied. “Equality in all things, remember?”

  Chapter 38

  The management of the Bay View had provided complimentary hotel rooms for members of J.D.’s aborted wedding party, along with adjoining suites for Aunt Margaret, Miss Morgan, and Lacy, as well as Miss Cameron, Wing Lee, Connie Thayer, and Angus McClure. J.D. and Amelia were oblivious in their owner’s suite to the merrymaking that lasted well into the wee hours before the guests finally repaired to their rooms.

  The following morning, Loy Chen’s crew whisked away the last remnants of the plentiful food and drink that had flowed throughout the celebration, while upstairs, J.D. and Amelia lazed in the big brass bed.

  “I realize that I forgot to carry you over the threshold last night, but frankly, darling, I don’t think I have the strength to do it this morning.”

  Yawning agreement, Amelia replied, “You’ll have your chance to play the gallant when we stay on the Rue Jacob.”

  By lunchtime, the couple finally rose, dressed, and prepared to play host to their many guests.

  “What will they think when I appear in this same gown,” Amelia fretted as J.D. did up the buttons on her back.

  “Here, put this to good use as a shawl,” he offered, handing her a silk throw that had been spread upon a nearby chaise lounge.

  Amelia’s attire was utterly ignored when they appeared downstairs to find Matilda and Emma in a lather of anxiety in the private dining room where a late breakfast was being served.

  “I didn’t sleep a wink last night for thinking of what happened with my father last night,” worried Matilda, who seemed on the verge of tears. She squeezed Emma’s hand in an agitated grip. Loy and Shou Shou unobtrusively served cups of strong coffee while Matilda confided that the problems with her father were far less manageable than J.D. tended to portray them.