He wasn’t joking, she saw. It wasn’t just about satisfying the balance sheets for him, it was about taking care of things. And people. And caring made everything harder.
She knew that from personal experience.
“I think the conservatory’s my favorite room,” he said, walking onto the fresh spring-green carpet. The room was glorious, all light and open and airy, with a sweep of windows overlooking the woods and the mountains beyond. Greek pillars stood in a semicircle, wound with plaster garlands. In the center of the room, a recessed parabolic cutout in the ceiling looked like nothing so much as the inside of a Fabergé egg, all curves and pastels, with trompe l’oeil vines circling the interior. “We had a wedding here this weekend.”
“Do you host them a lot?”
“I told you, romance is our business. People get married, come for anniversaries. We had a guy pop the question in the restaurant last night. There’s something in the air here, maybe because Cortland was in love when he built it.”
Hadley tried to imagine it, starting a new life amid the garland-draped columns, before the grand sweep of mountains. How could you help but believe it would work, that all the history of the hotel would somehow imbue it with a special magic?
But she’d seen over and over that magic didn’t matter.
“I think we’re all done here,” Gabe said. “Next stop, the ball room.”
Chapter Six
Gabe led Hadley back out into the lobby, down the row of stately pillars. At the far end, a broad hallway led between pairs of sitting rooms en route to the grand ballroom.
“During World War II, the secretary of state’s daughter got married here. So many dignitaries and heads of state were invited that they had to block off the highway, wouldn’t let anyone in without a badge, not even the Brazilian ambassador.”
“Imagine that. What did he do?” Hadley asked in amusement.
“Got the vice president to vouch for him.”
“I know it always works for me.”
On the walls, photographs showed a young woman in white lace and a nervous-looking groom with a boutoniere. “How nerve-racking to have the president of the United States and the prime minister of Canada looking on as you say your vows,” she murmured.
“I guess it made them take them seriously. They were here in ‘94 to celebrate their golden anniversary. Still holding hands,” he added, pointing to the photograph of an elderly couple beaming at the camera.
“There’s a rarity,” she said.
He studied her for a moment. “We’ve got some other old photos you might want to see. Come on.” He led her farther down the hallway, to the vestibule of the ballroom beyond. On the wall, photographs showed the half-built hotel, with the workers clustered around the foundation stones, incongruous in their vests and bowler hats.
“Cortland brought stone masons and master carpenters over from Italy,” Gabe said, pointing to the workers. “And look, Cortland and Clara.” In the sepia-toned print, Cortland had the sober sternness that you so often saw in old photographs. Clara’s eyes held a flicker of mischief, a hint of the woman who’d reveled in tipping society on its ear.
“She was really quite beautiful,” Hadley murmured.
“She was,” he agreed. “According to what I’ve read, they were truly in love. It wasn’t just for money. She practically went into seclusion after he died.” He pointed to another photograph. “That’s Harold Masterson. He was the head of a Massachusetts syndicate that bought the hotel from the Cortlands after World War II. His group held on to it to the mid-sixties. It went briefly to a property management company that went belly-up after about ten years and turned it over to a savings and loan.”
“No pictures of them?”
“No real people, just corporations. That was when things really began to go south. They couldn’t take care of it and had problems of their own. They got caught out in the S and L scandal and wound up having to put it on the block. That was when your grandfather bought it.” He pointed to a photograph of a laughing couple holding a toddler and pointing to the camera.
“That’s Whit?”
Gabe nodded. “He spent a month here the summer his son was three. Made quite an impression on him, I guess.”
The laughing woman in the dark lipstick and the circle skirt was her tight-lipped, resentful grandmother, Hadley realized in shock, and the chubby toddler at Whit’s feet… “My father,” she said faintly.
“Whit gave us this picture to put up here. Said it was the happiest time in his life. That was why he wanted to buy the hotel and bring her back.”
Hadley stared at the photo, at the three faces frozen in time, frozen in joy. Whatever had happened after, they had been happy once.
“Are you okay?” Gabe asked, watching her closely.
Snap out of it. “Of course,” she said automatically, studying Whit’s face in the image. He didn’t look like the miserable SOB she’d heard about. He seemed kind.
“You look like you haven’t seen this before. We could probably make you a copy of the shot, if you like.”
Hadley gave herself a mental shake. Now wasn’t the time to be obsessing about the past. She had problems enough in the present. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, and turned from the photos. “What’s next?”
“The ballroom is in through here, though it’s a little torn up at present. This year’s project,” he elaborated, and opened the French doors into the cavernous room.
“This year’s project?” Her voice echoed.
“Every January, Whit and I sit down…sat down,” he corrected with a little shake of his head, “and made a list of what we were going to do for the year. He spent the first decade after he bought the place just paying off the bank loan and doing basic facilities upgrades. By the time I came on board, he was ready to start real renovations. He didn’t take a dime of profit out of the place the whole time I was running it,” Gabe added.
Hadley frowned. It didn’t fit. None of it fit. Whit had a reputation for being ruthless when it came to financials. Why would he dump all of his profits into a hotel that wasn’t one of his core businesses? Why acquire it in the first place—as a hobby? She shook her head, mystified.
“I think it really made an impression on him when he was first here, and he just wanted to bring it back so that other people could enjoy it, too,” Gabe said as though he’d heard her.
“You liked him.”
“Yeah, I did. He was a decent person. Tough, but decent. He gave me a chance in this business.”
“You got to know him running the hotel?”
Gabe gave a laugh. “No, we go further back than that. Whit used to spend a week here every summer. I met him the first year I worked at the golf course here, as a caddy. He didn’t own the place then and all the other caddies hated getting stuck with him. You know how he’d look at you with those bushy eyebrows if you screwed up,” he said with a quick smile that invited her to remember.
Except that she couldn’t.
“None one else wanted him and I was low man on the totem pole.”
“So you got stuck with it.”
“I got stuck with it,” he agreed. “And I don’t know why, but we hit it off. He asked for me every day. The next summer I moved to lifeguard, then bellhop, but whenever Whit came he wanted me to caddy for him. And then one day he invited me to play.” This time, the smile was private.
“You still miss him, don’t you?”
Gabe nodded. “It’s hard to get used to. Something will happen and I’ll pick up the phone to call him and then I remember he’s not there anymore. You know what it’s like.”
But she didn’t. She’d never had a chance to.
Glancing up, she found him looking at her quizzically. Abruptly, she remembered the feel of his arms around her on the dance floor, and in that instant all she wanted was to be held, just held by someone who cared for her.
The targets, she reminded herself. That was what she needed to be focusing on, not
fantasies. “So what was your idea about upping revenues?”
For moment, he didn’t reply. Then he shook his head. “Come outside, I’ll show you.”
The day was crisp, cloudless, the sun throwing blue shadows onto the snow. Water dripped from the icicles that lined the roof like crystal trimming. “A perfect location,” Hadley murmured, walking to where the veranda curved around the end of the wing and began its return along the back side of the hotel, toward the conservatory. “The mountains, they’re everywhere you look.”
“This was Whit’s favorite place in the whole hotel. Mountains as far as the eye could see, he used to say.” And while she took in the view, Gabe could look at her. So sleek, so polished, but it wasn’t the polish that attracted him. It wasn’t the gloss he found hard to ignore, it was the delicate mouth that softened when she thought no one was looking, the gray eyes and the shadows they held. It was the fragility that popped out when he least expected it, and hand in hand with it the force of will to keep going.
He’d shown her the photo of Whit, hoping to make her connect to the hotel. The unfettered joy in the image always made him feel good. He hadn’t expected it to put the sadness back in her eyes. “He used to talk about you,” he said now. “He was so proud of what you’d accomplished.”
Of all the reactions he’d have expected, shock would have been the last. “He talked about me?”
“Of course. Grandparents do, you know.”
“But I…he never—” She broke off helplessly.
“Sometimes it’s easier to tell someone else,” Gabe said softly. Hadley shook her head and stared out at the mountains. “It’s…complicated,” she said at last. “So tell me about your idea.”
“You’re looking at it.” Gabe pointed to the ridge on the other side of the road, just down from the hotel. “The Crawford Notch Ski Resort.”
“Ski packages? That’s it?”
“We already have ski packages. I want to buy the resort lock, stock and barrel, run it together with the hotel. The property already has a couple of inns. We could expand them, add Nordic skiing down here, drive our winter occupancy way up.”
She gave him a stare of exasperation and moved along the veranda. “The goal here is to cut costs, not incur more.”
“I’m not talking about incurring cost, I’m talking about buying revenue centers.”
“Which are going to need a whole lot of money dumped into them. Gabe, this isn’t helping.”
“That ski area is incredibly run-down. We could double, even triple the revenues with a moderate investment. Think about it, winter romance packages with skiing, sleigh rides, après ski parties…. The corporate clients will like it, too, and regardless of whether they stay here or there we get the money.”
“You’re out of your mind,” she said impatiently. “The board will never stand for it.”
“I’ve crunched some numbers. We could be looking at making our investment back in a year, maybe two. You want to see a big jump in hotel revenues, this is the way to do it.”
“And for no money down, I suppose. Targets, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, targets. But this has long-term upside. I don’t know firm numbers yet. I did a little sniffing around in the spring, but when we lost Whit…” He gave a helpless shrug. “My guess is we could get it for six million, maybe seven. The value’s mostly in the land. There’s money to be made there but it’ll cost. Whit would have been behind it. Will Stone?”
Hadley shook her head. “Even if you’re not out of your mind it’ll be a tough sell. We’d have to work up the numbers, convince my father, Robert, and the directors.”
“Look at the golf course. It just sits there all winter when it could be producing revenue. Same with the bridle paths. You want higher profits, we need to get every square foot of this property earning.”
“Okay, I can see that argument, but why buy it? Why not work with the resort to create some bundled offerings?”
Gabe snorted. “That place is so badly managed right now a chimp could probably bring in more money. It would hurt us to be associated with it. They’ve got historic inns on the property that they’re letting fall apart. It would take an investment, but it would pay for itself pretty quickly.”
He could see it taking shape as he talked. “Imagine it. You want to get away with your lover. You can’t afford the Mount Jefferson but you can come to the Crawford Arms and get a room in a historic inn with world-class skiing right outside your front door, a quiet brandy tucked up in front of the fire at the end of the day, then a long, hot soak in the room’s Jacuzzi tub or a massage with complimentary massage oil.” He saw her eyes darken and had a sudden image of her stretched out on a bed, naked skin gleaming with oil. What would it be like to work some of the tension out of her shoulders and see her relax for once—before he gave her an entirely different type of tension?
For a moment, she didn’t answer him. Then she swallowed. “But I…we need numbers.”
Gabe resisted a grin. The businesswoman was trying to come back but she was fighting a losing battle. “Between the benefit to the hotel and the increased revenue we could get at the ski area, I’m guessing it would pay for itself in a couple of years and drive revenues for the overall resort.”
“Pie in the sky isn’t going to do it for you, Trask,” Hadley said more firmly.
“It’s not pie in the sky. I can back it up. And that’s not even counting what we could do with a cross-country program. The golf shop would be our Nordic center. The bridle paths are already there. We just need a grooming machine and some rental equipment and the right staff and we’re ready to print money.”
Hadley stared off toward the white stripes of the ski runs, watching the green lift chairs, toylike at this distance. “Do you really think my grandfather would have gone for it?”
“He liked the idea. Like you, he wanted to be convinced. I was working on the package when he had his stroke.”
A line of sunlight fell over her shoulder and along the edge of her cheek, lighting up her hair. She was beautiful, he thought, pure and simple. Something had started on the dance floor, like the pendulum of the clock, with an inexorable rhythm of its own. It had no place in what they were doing and yet it hovered over every conversation, the elephant in the room. The manager in him knew to keep his distance.
The man only knew he wanted her.
“So show me what you’ve got,” she said. “And then let’s go take a look around.”
They were heading back to Gabe’s office when the normally smooth and unflappable Alicia hurried up, looking harried. “We have a problem,” she blurted.
Gabe looked at her in concern. “I had a feeling. What’s up?”
“Balloons.”
“Balloons?”
“Purple balloons. It’s Jeremy Potter’s birthday party today.”
And he understood at least the magnitude of the problem, if not the particulars. Joan Potter had been the star of their events planning discussions for three weeks running, ignoring deadlines, making constant demands, presenting a steadily rising head count. But Joan was also the president of the Montpelier Ladies’ Auxiliary and in a position to pass a lot of good word about the hotel if she were satisfied with her son’s birthday party.
“She asked for purple and white balloons, I have it on paper, but now she insists on red. Jeremy seems to think purple is a girl’s color.”
“Jeremy’s right,” Gabe said. It earned him a slight smile. “Do we have red balloons?”
“I bought a giant bag of all colors a month ago, before she started demanding purple. We could sift through for the red ones but we need a hundred of them and there’s no time.” The normally calm Alicia was practically vibrating with frustration. “Joan’s going to be here any minute and we’ll have fifty kids and their mothers here half an hour later.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe said mildly. “Take care of Joan. I’ll take care of the balloons.”
Alicia’s eyes shone with
gratitude and more than a bit of hero worship. “I knew you’d fix it,” she said in a rush of relief. “Thank you.”
She hurried off toward the main doors, presumably to wait for Joan Potter. Gabe turned to Hadley. “It looks like our little outing is going to have to wait. Can we do it tomorrow? I’ve got some balloons to fill.”
“Yourself? Why don’t you get a staffer to do it?”
“Because they’re busy, and getting this party right is important. It could mean a lot more business. Besides, filling balloons is trickier than it looks and we don’t want any of those babies getting loose.” He glanced at his watch. “I might not be done quite by showtime, but I’ll be close.”
“Would another pair of hands help?”
It surprised him that she would offer. “Don’t you have things to do?”
“Doesn’t matter. I want to help.”
So it begins… “All right then. Step this way.”
Hadley couldn’t believe she was spending a workday filling balloons with helium. If Robert could only see her now. It was one step away from running off to join the circus.
They stood in Gabe’s office, the helium tank on one side, a reel of string on the other. More and more she realized his office was the triage center for the hotel. Against the wall, a cardboard box held a pair of silver water pitchers with broken handles. Another box looked to be filled with retired prints from the guest rooms. Plastic-wrapped tubes leaned against the wall.
“What are those?”
“Carpet samples for the ballroom. I’ll show you later. We’ve got to make a decision in the next day or two.”
“We?”
“If you’re on the hot seat for target numbers, the least I can do is give you a vote.” He turned a dial on the tank, and with a hiss, the small rubber pouch pressed over the nozzle expanded to a gleaming red sphere.
Any other man would have looked ridiculous standing there in business clothes, filling balloons. She could say a lot of things about how he looked, but ridiculous wouldn’t have been one of them. He’d taken off his suit coat and rolled his sleeves up so that his forearms showed, hard and sinewy. His shoulders, accentuated by the suspenders, looked very wide and solid above the narrowness of his hips. He’d loosened his tie a bit and unbuttoned his collar. He looked just about good enough to eat.
Under The Mistletoe (Holiday Hearts #2) Page 7