by Albert Able
The blessing was that Ahmed was never heard of again and no one, not even Naomi, ever asked after him.
Unbelievably, the children had been sold to Ahmed by a social worker in charge of some obscure care home in Birmingham. The children had been in the institution almost since birth and like so many other unfortunates; there were no recorded parents or relatives and so the children were easy pray for soulless child traffickers like Ahmed.
In spite her injuries, Naomi insisted on keeping the children with her whilst she recuperated at Max’s apartment under the watchful eye of the attentive Doctor Haines.
Strangely, Max seemed to relish it all and was eventually seen taking Naomi and the boys for regular drives in the minibus.
In time under their joint loving care, the two boys gradually regained their confidence and were able to enjoy the love of a family life previously so cruelly denied to them.
It also proved to be a critical turning point in Max Harris’s life; as he and Naomi spent more and more time together it was almost inevitable that they should become more than just good friends and barely two years later that they were married at a modest church wedding, with the two proud young boys acting as ushers.
Naomi also was also to have a profound effect on the range of Max’s business interests, so that by the time they were married, together with additional influence from the ever-present Stan, Max no longer ran girls, smuggled cigarettes or pushed drugs in his nightclubs.
On the contrary Max Harris was now a fully paid up respectable member of the local business community and together they raised two beautiful girls of their own, having formally adopted the two young boys who, by the time Marcus and I started writing this book, were working in the local community one as a solicitor the other as a General Practitioner, both specialising in the care of disadvantaged children.
Chapter 13 - Marcus
With a wife and our first child on the way, I reasoned it was finally time to branch out into my own hotel business.
I had always envisaged, what was then a revolutionary concept, the ‘Budget Hotel’
Hotels of two stars and less at that time were mostly rather scruffy and or poorly equipped and almost certainly were not en-suite.
I have always reasoned that my guests should enjoy facilities, at least as good or better, than the ones they had left at home. Unfortunately some of the early ‘Budget Hotel’ brands fell well short of that simple rule, leaving the market wide-open for a reliable ‘Economy with Style’ hotel product.
Fortunately suitable sites in London for such a development were still available in those days; my first hotel however, would not be purpose built as almost all the future ones would be. It was Max of course, who pointed me to the rundown buildings that would convert into the first, ‘Economy with Style Budget Hotel’ however, trying to persuade investors that this was the way forward for commercial and family accommodation was something else.
The sites we had elected to develop meant that I was also faced with the exhausting battle to quickly and economically convert the old Victorian buildings before our limited budget was exhausted.
The local ‘Council Planners’ the ‘Fire Department’ and a host of others petty bureaucrats however, all seemed to conspire to make progress as difficult and slow as possible.
For my part I was of course totally devoid of any previous experience of buying a development site or organising the planning procedures, which meant that at first I was easily intimidated by the multitude of bureaucratic obstacles, which needed to be overcome. Yet when I encountered that first petty minded functionary at the Council Planning Department, I quickly realised, that I was simply tangling with exactly the same type people I had always been dealing with. It was just their job title that was different; suddenly I was at home and ready to do battle.
The first thing we had to do was of course to raise the money to buy the old buildings and so with Stan’s guidance I put together a very convincing business plan and made appointments to meet several prominent high street banks.
With a major conflict, raging in the Middle East my timing was not good and so as the nations economy struggled the banks as usual, withdrew into safe cover.
That was when I decided to call in a favour.
I had discovered that Harry Grant was still regularly visiting the Riverside Hotel and apparently still enjoying Conchita’s company. I also remembered that he was involved in some kind of specialised banking so I figured that he if anyone should have the key to finding the finance I so desperately needed.
Harry was very helpful and did not hesitate. “This is not the type of banking business I’m in but I know exactly the right man for your project.” Harry took out a business card and wrote down a name and telephone number. “If anyone can do it, this fellow can.” Harry smiled “Clifford Latham, he’s a money broker and knows most of the commercial banks and their lending criterion.” Harry passed me the card. “I’ll give him a call first, just to fill him in on your requirements.”
Over the next few weeks I had several meetings with Clifford Latham who seemed to understand exactly what we needed and took a great deal of time understanding every facet of the project.
Eventually I received a visit from Clifford. “I have found a bank prepared to finance the hotel project.” He grinned cheerfully.
I was naturally ecstatic that at last my dream was about to become reality.
“There is however one small issue which will have to be resolved.” Clifford cautioned tempering my buoyant mood.
“And?” I replied cautiously.
“You see, Dan Forrester, the manager of the bank we are planning to use, is very highly placed and has discretion at the full level of your borrowing. Therefore the loan application will not have to go anywhere else for approval.”
“That sounds perfect.” I interrupted.
“Yes but there is a small matter which must also be addressed if we are to be assured of success.” Sounding somewhat embarrassed Clifford Latham continued. “Quite honestly I have never experienced this before but these are very tight and difficult financial times. Anyway, to cut a long story short and in order to make it all work, we are going to have to give this man a brown paper envelope.”
I was not as surprised as Clifford appeared to be. “How much?” I asked, rapidly trying to calculate an acceptable amount.
“Ten thousand pounds cash.” Clifford frowned.
“Ten thousand?” I exclaimed.
“I’m afraid so” Clifford confirmed “but if you’re uncomfortable with that, I can of course continue looking for another lender but it is nearly impossible to find any interest at the moment, especially in a start-up situation like yours.”
The cost of the site and run down buildings was three hundred thousand pounds; I already had forty thousand pounds put aside, the renovation project was estimated at about sixty thousand; with set up expenses originally calculated a maximum of eight thousand pounds. I was already stretching things trying to borrow three hundred and thirty thousand pounds.
Nonetheless, I had a clear understanding of ‘life’ and understood such manoeuvres were often required to keep the wheels of fortune turning freely. “I understand the situation but even if I wanted to do it where am I going to find the extra cash?” I asked as a wave of helplessness swept away my initial euphoria.
“Well I thought about that too and it’s quite easy really, because if ‘Greedy Dan’ as I nick named him, wants his brown paper envelope, he will just have to agree a slightly bigger loan!” Clifford proffered an infectious grin.
I was more than happy with the idea; after all it made good sense, especially if it gave me what I wanted to kick-start my dream.
Clifford Latham picked up the telephone. “The best thing is to ask.”
Ten minutes later, I had all my finance in place and the final purchase was completed in a matter weeks; the planning issues were another matter. Unbelievably they were querying the need for every room to be as big a
s the twenty-five square meters I considered to be appropriate. The total removal of the catering from the main body of the hotel also caused great excitement.
No end of examples of similar developments in other parts of the world, failed to move the introvert dinosaurs at the planning department and so it was quite obvious that more inside action was going to be needed.
Amongst the many ‘special guests’ who visited the top floor and suite 401 at the Riverside Hotel was a female politician who regularly visited with a variety of different men but one of her regulars I knew to be the Councillor in charge of the planning department I was dealing with.
I contacted Graham Radshaw and outlined what I needed; he was furious at first. “You know I cannot violate our confidentiality I may have done it once but I just can’t do it again.”
I won’t record all the things he actually said on that occasion but basically it implied that I was born out of wedlock, had an unknown father; which was of course true and my dubious Italian heritage was the subject of most of the rest.
When he finally calmed down I asked him politely. “Are you quite sure you have finished now?”
“Don’t try your philosophical stuff on me.” Graham snapped.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said “but just let me suggest that you quickly do one small thing.”
“Oh and what would that be?” Graham asked obviously curious.
“Just calculate how much you have earned in the last six months alone from the ‘Top Floor’.”
“Okay, okay so I earn a reasonable bit of commission and just how much did ‘you’ get out of it eh?” Graham countered haughtily.
“You’re missing the point Graham; all I ask is for you to pull a little string so that I can get my new hotel. Just think how much more that could mean for you?”
That seemed to do the trick and I don’t know what he did or to whom he spoke but a full planning consent arrived on my desk within the week.
We were finally on the way to our first hotel.
I did not intend to quit my position at the Riverside Hotel, at least not until our own business was running successfully; so when I was summoned to a meeting with the company Chairman a few months later, anticipating significant disapproval of my launch into private enterprise I was naturally nervous but to my complete surprise I found myself sat facing the man who had given me his business card and kick-started my career just a few years previously.
The former Managing Director now promoted to Chairman greeted me warmly and invited me to sit in the comfortable leather bound armchair facing him. I suppose it was my guilty conscience, which made me suspicious of the generous welcome.
The Chairman came straight to the point “Just like you Marcus, I am an ambitious man and have had battled hard to gain my place as Chairman of this hotel group” he leaned forward and set his steel grey eyes at mine “and I like to think I know everything about my own team,” he frowned, I quaked “I understand you are setting up your own business?”
“You heard?” In spite of the sudden spasm in my belly I displayed my super confident face, “can’t keep much under the table in this business eh?” I leaned forward; it helped to ease the pain in my gut. “I had the opportunity to acquire a site and only this week did I finally get the planning approval and most importantly of course the money.”
The Chairman nodded approval. “That’s fantastic and to be quite honest Marcus, with your natural flair for the business, I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you. It is only natural that you should strike out on your own; in fact when you eventually go public I’d like to be able to invest in your company.” The Chairman relaxed in his chair.
To my surprise the interview, far from being a disciplinary hearing, as I assumed it would be had turned into a slap on the back one.
“That is very kind of you sir and if that happens you will be most welcome to invest.” I didn’t understand anything about company structures or stocks and shares at that time but it sounded like good news to me.
“The thing is Marcus; I don’t want you to leave us,” the Chairman toyed with a sheet of paper in front of him “you se it has in my opinion, been entirely down to your drive and skill, that our London hotel has been turned from an annual loss into significant profit.” The Chairman cleared his throat. “Our other hotels are all under performing when rated alongside yours and so I would like you to join the board of this group as ‘Development Director’” he passed the sheet of paper he had been toying with across to me. “This is a draft contract appointing you as Development Director and noting your other business interests. This will mean that you can still run your own hotels, just so long as you deliver the improvements we are looking for in the group.”
I was stunned, it was the sort of position career professionals dream of and I was no exception. “I’m flattered that you think I can do what you ask.” I was unusually lost for any more words.
“Take it to your lawyer and when you’re happy come back to me but I’d like to get the show on the road as soon as possible.”
I left the office in a daze but by the time I returned to the Riverside Hotel, my mind was functioning at full stretch.
The new appointment was at a salary equivalent to three times what I was being paid as General Manager. I would also be on a substantial bonus scheme, based on improvements in bottom line profit and the best bit was, as Development Director, I could also keep my job and salary at the Riverside for as long as I wanted.
Life had suddenly taken another giant step forward.
Chapter 14 - Connie
The elevation to Development Director was naturally a marvellous boost for our financial security; the downside meant that for the next three years, Marcus had to spend almost two weeks each month travelling around Europe working like a lunatic, trying to change the old management culture of the group’s other hotels and so for the first few months this left me, with our baby developing in my tummy, struggling to keep control of things on the ‘top floor’.
Trained by Marcus in the hard school of hostelry, the Riverside Hotel Manager had developed well and was now very good at his job and eager to prove his suitability for promotion to General Manager.
Juan Cardinal was Spanish by birth but raised and educated in England when his parents fled from the civil war. With a natural flair for languages, he had worked in several of the group’s European hotels as either waiter or porter before he landed at the Riverside Hotel London.
Marcus had immediately recognised the true qualities hidden in the depths of the enthusiastic Juan and quickly taught him to refine and fully implement the skills he had accumulated on his travels.
Juan was a natural Hotelier, with an amazing memory for names and faces he easily endeared himself to returning hotel guests as he welcomed them by name, even remembering little personal items like ‘how is you mother; has she fully recovered from the operation?’
Five years older than Marcus, he was blessed with typically Spanish looks, unmarried and happy just to play the field, Hotel guests included. I must add at this point General Managers wife ‘excluded’; in fact, in all the years I knew Juan, he never ever made a serious pass at me.
I asked him why not one day “It’s the code you see; never on your own doorstep” he laughed and gave me a brotherly kiss on the cheek.
VIP hotel guest Indian Princess Ocilla Worthington was however different; married to an English diplomat from the British Embassy in Delhi, she was visiting London on her own and elected to stay at the Riverside Hotel.
Princess Ocilla Worthington was one of those guests who persisted in making near impossible demands at all hours of the night and day, creating havoc at reception and with the room service section.
Realising this kind of guest’s unreasonable behaviour had to be ‘nipped in the bud’ before the whole hotel was in uproar, Juan promptly took command; personally attending the Princess’s bed room to appease the hotel’s misgivings and for the next forty-eight hours
peace returned to the troubled service departments.
On his return from his fortnightly European visits, Marcus always did a quick tour of the hotel departments; he knew every one of the ninety staff by name and treated them like family.
Juan was not scheduled to be on duty until mid-afternoon and when Marcus appeared at the room service desk, the clerk had just taken yet another call from the Princess.
“She wants Juan to take her tea tray, says no one else is of sufficient rank to serve her but” the distressed clerk looked exasperated “Juan is off until three.”
“Don’t worry; perhaps she’ll accept it from me?” Marcus chuckled as he marched into the prep area and collected the tray, which had already been laid by the porter.
“Wellington Suite please Mr Marcus,” the porter advised, adding in mild disgust “I don’t think she’s much of a tipper”
The porter reached for the telephone. “I’ll tell her you’re on the way”
When he got to the ‘Wellington Suite’ he found that the door was ajar, Marcus approached and tapped gently.
“Come in Juan.” An Indian accented voice called.
Marcus pushed the door with his foot and entered the room.
“In here my little donkey, I’ve got your favourite for you.” The voice called from the bedroom.
Unperturbed Marcus pushed the bedroom door open and walked in. The Princess was kneeling on the end of the bed wiggling her naked bottom a carnation protruded from her anus.
Marcus stopped dead; the little vase, which decorated the tray with a small scented rose, tipped over and clattered to the floor and as he turned to escape from the room the Princess called turning her head slowly towards Marcus. “Put that down little donkey, Mummy Moo wants you” but as the she recognised her error a manic scream filled the room followed by “Who the hell are you?” She shouted rolling off the bed and clutching a silk dressing gown to her breast to stand facing Marcus.