Charlotte pressed her hand over her mouth as Paula rose to her feet, saying, “Well, you’ve certainly given us something to think about.” Ice formed on every word. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were hard and glittery. “Don’t bother showing us out, Mr. Albright. We know the way.”
On the path outside, Paula put a reassuring hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“Never mind me,” said Charlotte. “The way he spoke to you! Honestly, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. You responded to him perfectly.”
“Do you think so? I was seeing red, and I just couldn’t be in the same room with him.”
“The thing is, I really wanted this to work,” said Charlotte as they set off on the short path that led to her bungalow. “I probably came across as resistant and stuck in my ways. I didn’t mean to. I just feel so overwhelmed by the demands of what he’s got in mind. There’s so much work involved, and you know how much it’ll cost.”
“And,” said Paula, “as you rightly pointed out, we have to consider our audience. What do they want? How would something like this go down with them? But don’t worry. We’ll deal with it.”
“Yes we will. But honestly, that man! If he was made out of chocolate, he’d eat himself, as my mother used to say.” Charlotte drew in a slow, steadying breath. “Let’s get a drink. I know we were going to talk to Audrey, but we’re in no mood for that right now.”
“I agree. My heart’s still pounding, and my blood pressure must be sky-high. I can’t tell you how angry I am with that arrogant man. He’s going to be nothing but trouble.”
“The thing is, if Edmund doesn’t work out, that could really mess up the plans Ray and I have. We’re hoping to visit my mother in the UK in October and get engaged while we’re with her. If I can get the costumes sorted quickly, he and I can go, but if this drags on too long, we won’t be able to get away. And it’s been so long since I’ve seen my mum.”
“We’ll do everything we can to make sure that happens,” said Paula.
When they had almost reached Charlotte’s bungalow, Aaron emerged from the hotel and crossed the graveled parking area carrying a presentation bouquet draped across one arm. The cellophane packaging crackled as he got closer, and a light breeze ruffled the tails of the broad bright-pink ribbon as he walked toward them. When he reached them, he stopped.
“Who are they for?” asked Paula, peering at the lavish display of roses, lilies, carnations, chrysanthemums, and daisies nestled on a bed of baby’s breath and ferns.
“Miss Audrey Ashley.”
“Of course they are. Who are they from, I wonder?”
“An admirer, no doubt,” said Charlotte. “I expect she gets lots of them.” She reached out to the bouquet and turned over the florist’s business card stapled to the cellophane and noted the name. “Very nice. This should cheer her up. Hmm, I wonder if they’re from Edmund. Is there a card from the sender?”
“I don’t know,” said Aaron. “There might be one inside. Why would I look? I was just told to deliver them, so that’s what I’m doing.”
“Well, they’re certainly extravagant. Someone wants to make a good impression. I can’t remember the last time anyone sent me flowers like that,” said Paula. “And I haven’t bought flowers from a florist in years. Of course, with Ned in charge of my garden, there’s no reason why I would. He’s got the greenest thumb in the Catskills.”
Ned, the Van Dusen’s head gardener, was almost seventy, and after a lifetime toiling in the Van Dusen orchard and flower and vegetable gardens, he was held in high regard throughout the county. He propagated and grew beautiful plants and had won dozens of first-place rosettes from the New York State fall fair for his efforts.
“From A Floral Affair, no less,” said Charlotte in a flat voice, reading the name of the town’s best florist off the card.
“Are you all right?” Aaron asked, peering at her. “You look, I don’t know, upset. Are you upset? Has something happened?”
“No, everything’s fine. You carry on, and I’ll catch up with you later.”
With a last worried look, Aaron left on his delivery, and Charlotte opened the door to her bungalow.
“We can’t let this crazy production go ahead. It’s just not possible,” Paula Van Dusen said when they were standing in the kitchen. “I’ll need to speak to the board and see what our options are. The way I see it, someone will either have to bring him to his senses or find a way stop him.”
Chapter 6
“Here you go.” Charlotte handed Paula a gin and tonic. “Let’s sit down and talk this through. See what we can come up with.”
Rupert joined Charlotte on the sofa, and after taking a small sip of her drink, she said, “I think Edmund’s contract is the best place to start. Harvey’s office should have a copy of it. We can check the wording around the budget. Normally, the play’s producers provide a budget, and the director agrees to stay within it when he signs the contract. If that’s the case here, that might be enough to shut down his Civil War idea.”
“It might. I have no idea what’s in his contract, so as you say, that’s the best place to start. The awful thing is, we’ve been doing these productions for decades and have never run into a problem like this, and the contracts haven’t been reviewed or updated in heaven knows how long. We’ll have to be more careful in future.
“So let’s drink up, and we’ll see if we can have a chat with Harvey. He’s the one who stands to lose the most from all this. He doesn’t take much interest in the theater operations, but he cares passionately about his hotel business, and if we’re late getting this show into performance, he’ll lose bookings, as you know,” said Paula.
“That’s true.”
“And we’ve got to get it stopped sooner rather than later. We want to get back on track before word gets out that the director’s got this ridiculous notion of mounting a Civil War–type Shakespeare. It’s got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s probably why it’s never been done before, at least not to my knowledge,” said Charlotte. “Right.” She drained her glass and stood up. “Should we ring Harvey or just show up?”
“Normally, I’d say we should call first, but in this case, let’s just go over there and take our chances.”
“He’ll drop whatever he’s doing to talk to you,” said Charlotte. “He’s got all the time in the world for you.”
“And so he should. The amount of money I’ve poured into his hotel over the years! I’ve just done up one of his bungalows! The least he can do is be available when I need to speak to him.”
They entered the hotel through the front entrance, passed the empty registration desk, and walked down a short corridor to Harvey Jacobs’s office. His longtime secretary, Nancy, was seated at her desk typing into an elderly computer. She looked up as they approached and removed her dark-framed glasses. Although they were attached to a cord looped around her neck, she held them in her hand as she greeted them. A tall, thin woman, with gray wavy hair that aged her and an unlined, smooth complexion that gave her a more youthful appearance, she was of indeterminate age, but Charlotte reckoned she must be in her midsixties. She’d spent her entire working life at the hotel, having started as secretary to Harvey Jacobs’s father right out of high school. It had been a sad day for Harvey a year or so ago when he’d had to tell Nancy that, because of the downturn in business, he could no longer afford to keep her on. But with a highly successful summer season behind them, things were looking up, and Nancy was back on a part-time basis.
“Oh, Mrs. Van Dusen. Hello. And Charlotte.” She ran a finger down a page of the day planner open on her desk. “We weren’t expecting you, were we?”
“No, Nancy, you weren’t. But I need to speak to Harvey. It’s important. Is he in?”
“He’s always in for you, Mrs. Van Dusen. Except when he isn’t actually here, of course.” She knocked on the door to Harvey’s office and opened it.
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“Mr. Jacobs, Mrs. Van Dusen is here to see you. She says it’s important.”
“Of course. Show her in.”
Nancy stood to one side as Paula Van Dusen and Charlotte entered, then closed the door behind them. Charlotte had been in Harvey Jacobs’s office only a handful of times and was always struck by how cluttered it was.
Dark-green hotel registers with the years stamped in gold on their spines were stacked on overflowing bankers’ boxes. Beige file folders bursting with yellowed documents teetered on top of wooden file cabinets with brass fittings, and the doors of the glass-fronted cabinets strained to hold back the contents pushing against them. Harvey’s desk was awash in papers, and three stackable baskets marked “Read,” “Sign,” and “Recycle” stood empty. Charlotte suspected this room had been Harvey and Nancy’s battleground for the last two decades.
Harvey scurried around the side of his desk to remove a cafeteria tray from one of the visitors’ chairs and gestured to them. After a quick glance around the room, and an internal struggle about whether she should say something about the state of his office, Paula Van Dusen leaned forward and said, “Harvey, we’ve got a problem with the new director.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He made a hearty you’ve-come-to-the-right-person kind of gesture accompanied by a reassuring smile. “How can I help?”
“You can help by firing Edmund Albright.”
The smile faded and his arms dropped to his side. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Van Dusen, but I couldn’t possibly do that. I didn’t hire the man. The theater board did. I’m not responsible for the theater personnel. You know that.”
“Does he have to know that? We’re desperate to get rid of him.”
“Surely you aren’t suggesting we should . . . and anyway, why would you want to fire him? That seems a bit drastic. He’s only just arrived. He’s barely had time to unpack. Shouldn’t you give him a chance to work things out, whatever the problems are? Or are there cast problems? Does the leading actress, what’s her name, not like him? Is that it?”
“Audrey Ashley,” said Charlotte.
“She did like him,” said Paula, “and in fact, he’s here at her request. We brought him on board because she has director approval and she asked for him. She’s not the problem. The problem is, she doesn’t like how he wants to stage the production and what it will mean for her. Charlotte will explain all that to you.”
Charlotte outlined the director’s plans to mount an expensive Civil War–themed production. “We just don’t have the resources to meet his demands,” she said. “Costumes, sets . . . we can’t do it, and we’d be crazy to try.”
“And we certainly don’t have the budget for it,” added Paula.
Harvey rested his hands on his ample stomach. “I see. And there’s also the timing issue. As I see it, you’re burning daylight with this production as it is.”
“That’s right,” said Paula. “And this situation could affect you too, Harvey. The hotel business has just started to turn around, and you don’t want to lose that momentum. We’re heading into fall—tourists coming to enjoy the fall leaves who want to include a visit to the theater. Lots of out-of-towners who need a place to stay for a night or two. So the play must open on time—even a week’s delay could make a difference in terms of canceled hotel bookings. And the production’s got to be good—we’ve got to give the theatergoers what they want.”
Harvey’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do, but I’ll try to think of something.” He let out a resigned sigh. “I’ll speak to Nancy. She’s good at solving problems.”
“You do that,” said Paula Van Dusen. “And you can start by asking her to bring us a copy of Edmund Albright’s contract.”
Harvey spoke directly into the old-fashioned intercom box on his desk to relay Paula Van Dusen’s request to his secretary.
“Right you are, Mr. Jacobs,” came the disembodied reply through the tinny speaker. Nancy clung to the outdated workplace etiquette of referring to her boss as Mr. Jacobs, and finally, he had given up asking her to call him Harvey.
“She should have it for you on your way out,” he said. “If I think of anything, I’ll be in touch.”
Paula Van Dusen stood up, signaling the meeting was over. Harvey opened the door and stood to one side as the women filed out.
“Here you are, Mrs. Van Dusen,” Nancy said, handing her a large white envelope. “Didn’t even have time to file it.”
When they were gone, Nancy strode into Harvey’s office.
“Did you get all that?” he asked, flipping the switch on the office intercom to the off position. She nodded grimly. “Got any ideas?”
She shook her head. “I read his contract. They can’t fire him just because they don’t like his production ideas, crazy though they may be. He’s agreed to deliver a production of Much Ado About Nothing, and the contract doesn’t specify what kind of production.”
“What about the budget?”
“Doesn’t say anything about that either. In fact, I didn’t see any grounds at all for the board to terminate the contract.”
“Not much of a contract, is it?” grumbled Harvey. “Not if you can’t get out of it.”
Nancy folded her arms, lowered her head, and fixed her brown eyes on him over the top of her glasses.
“Mr. Jacobs, you know I’ve given my entire working life to Jacobs Grand, and no one understands the workings of this hotel better than I do. I hear things. People come to me with their problems. And no one, not even you, has been through more ups and downs here than I have. And I can tell you that Mrs. Van Dusen is right about one thing. If this play doesn’t open on time, or if it’s a flop, the hotel’s financial recovery is in jeopardy. And what’s more, our reputation could be at stake. We’re known for the high quality of our theatrical productions, and if this one comes across as ridiculous, that could impact us. The hotel and theater are meant to operate separately, but the fortunes of both are connected. And the truth is, the hotel needs the theater more than the theater needs the hotel. They could go somewhere else. We can’t.”
Harvey rubbed his chin as he thought about what she had just said. While he had no doubt as to Nancy’s loyalty to the hotel, he knew she must also be concerned for herself. The past year, when she’d been laid off, had been difficult. Her mother had died, and although her death was expected, there’d been the unwanted expense of a funeral. Nancy continued to live in the small two-story duplex she’d shared with her mother, but on her salary, repairing the peeling gray asphalt siding that let in the damp and the old wooden frames that were beginning to rot was out of the question. Harvey had suggested that she sell the house and take up his offer of a room in the hotel, but so far, she had declined.
She gestured at his desk and let out a long, mournful sigh. “Mr. Jacobs, I do wish you’d let me tidy up these files. They look just awful when somebody comes into your office, especially someone important like Mrs. Van Dusen. What she must think of us.”
Meanwhile, Charlotte and Paula Van Dusen walked in silence through the hotel’s back corridors until they reached Charlotte’s office.
“Nancy’s an interesting character,” said Charlotte as she unlocked the door. “I suspect during that period last winter when she was laid off that she was working for Harvey anyway.”
“Volunteering, you mean. Probably. I suspect that her loyalty is to the hotel, not Harvey.”
“I agree,” said Charlotte. “And that gray suit she wears. She’s had that ever since I’ve been here. I must admit, even though we’ve had lots of professional dealings over the years, I don’t really know her very well. She seems a really private kind of person who doesn’t mix much with the rest of us. For example, I’ve never seen her eat lunch in the cafeteria.”
“She always went home for lunch,” said Paula, “to check on her mother. She took care of old Mrs. Hargreaves through a long, terrible illness, and I expect poor Nancy incurred a lot of debt when she finally had to
place her mother in a nursing home. Harvey felt terrible when he had to lay her off, especially as it was right around the time her mother died. But the hotel was doing so badly, he really had no choice, and Nancy understood that. For Nancy’s sake, I really hope now that things have finally turned around, the hotel will keep going in the right direction.”
“I hope so too.” Charlotte set her bag down on the worktable and gestured to her desk. “Why don’t you look through the contract while I make us a cup of tea.”
She returned a few minutes later carrying two cups on a small tray. As Charlotte handed her a cup, Paula reached the same conclusion about the contract as Nancy had—that she couldn’t see any grounds to fire Edmund.
“Incompetence?” Charlotte asked.
“How can he be incompetent? He hasn’t even started.”
“I know. Clutching at straws. Does it say anything about board approval?”
“Approval of what kind of production he wants to do?”
“Yes.”
Paula scanned the contract. “No, it doesn’t mention that.”
“So unless he changes his mind, the Civil War theme is a go.”
“Looks that way. But I can tell you one thing: the next director’s contract will definitely spell out what we want. This will never happen again.”
The two sat lost in thought, taking occasional sips of tea, until Charlotte broke the silence.
“Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.’”
“What?”
“It’s from Much Ado About Nothing.” She got up and—with a quick glance in both directions, up and down the corridor—quietly closed the door. “Look, we’re not going to get anywhere arguing with Edmund Albright. He’s dug his heels in, so we’ll have to try a different, softer approach. A little friendly persuasion. I suggest we move up the date of the dinner party you were planning to give, and we’ll use what you call dinner diplomacy—a good meal and civilized conversation—to encourage him to abandon that crazy Civil War idea. Without actually telling him we think it’s a crazy idea. Your Oakland is the American equivalent of a British country house, and in its genteel atmosphere, I suspect he’ll be more open to hearing what we have to say. And if board members can be there, so much the better.”
Much Ado About Murder Page 5