He also turned out to have his father’s head on his shoulders. Clearly he’d been fully briefed on the Rosnovski-Osborne file, and was able to answer all of William’s questions. William explained exactly what he now required.
‘An immediate report and a further update every three months. Secrecy is of paramount importance. I need to find out why Abel Rosnovski is buying Lester’s stock. Does he still feel I’m responsible for Davis Leroy’s death? Is he continuing his battle with Kane and Cabot even now that it’s part of Lester’s? What role is Henry Osborne playing in all this? Would a meeting between myself and Rosnovski help, especially if I told him it was the bank, and not me, who refused to support the Richmond Group?’
Thaddeus Cohen’s pen was scratching away as furiously as his father’s had before him.
‘All these questions must be answered as quickly as possible so I can decide if it’s necessary to inform my board.’
Thaddeus Cohen gave his father’s shy smile as he shut his briefcase. ‘I’m sorry that you should be troubled in this way while you’re still convalescing. I’ll report back to you as soon as I can ascertain the facts.’ He paused at the door. ‘I greatly admire what you did at Remagen.’
On May 7, 1946, Abel travelled to New York to celebrate the first anniversary of VE Day. He had laid on a dinner for more than a thousand Polish-American veterans to be held at the Baron hotel, and had invited General Kazimierz Sosnkowski, commander in chief of the Polish Forces in France, to be the guest of honour. He had looked forward to the event for weeks, and invited Florentyna to accompany him to New York, as Zaphia made it clear that she didn’t want to come.
On the night of the celebration, the banquet room of the New York Baron was magnificently adorned. Each of the 120 tables was decorated with the stars and stripes of America as well as the white and red of the Polish national flag. Huge photographs of Eisenhower, Patton, Bradley, Clark, Paderewski and Sikorsky adorned the walls. Abel sat at the centre of the head table with the general on his right and Florentyna on his left.
After a seven-course meal, General Sosnkowski rose to address the gathering. He announced that Colonel Rosnovski had been made a Life President of the Polish Veterans’ Society, in acknowledgement of the personal sacrifices he had made for the Polish-American cause, and in particular his generous gift of the New York Baron to the US Army throughout the entire duration of the war. Someone who had drunk a little too much shouted from the back of the room, ‘Those of us who survived the Germans somehow managed to survive Abel’s cooking as well.’
The thousand veterans laughed, cheered and toasted Abel in Danzig vodka. But they fell silent when the general spoke movingly of the plight of post-war Poland, now in the grip of Stalinist Russia, and urged his fellow expatriates to be tireless in their campaign to secure sovereignty for their native land. Abel, like everyone else in the room, wanted to believe that Poland could one day be free again. He also dreamed of seeing his castle restored to him, but doubted if that would ever be possible following Stalin’s coup at Yalta.
The general went on to remind the guests that Polish-Americans had, per capita, sacrificed more lives to the war than any other ethnic group in the United States. ‘How many Americans know that Poland lost six million of her people while Czechoslovakia lost one hundred thousand? Some have said we were stupid not to surrender when we must have known we were beaten. How could a nation that staged a cavalry charge against the might of the Nazi tanks ever believe it was beaten? And, my friends, I tell you, we’ll never be defeated.’
The general ended by telling his intent audience the story of how Abel had led a band of men to rescue wounded troops at the battle of Remagen. When he had finished, the veterans stood and cheered the two men resoundingly. Florentyna’s smile revealed how proud she was of her father.
Abel was surprised when his experiences on the battlefield at Remagen hit the papers the next morning, because Polish achievements were rarely reported in any medium other than Dziennik Zwiazkowy. He basked in his newfound glory as an unsung American hero, and spent most of the day posing for photographers and giving interviews.
By the evening, when the sun had finally disappeared, Abel felt a sense of anticlimax. The general had flown to Los Angeles for another function, Florentyna had returned to school at Lake Forest, George was in Chicago and Henry Osborne in Washington. The New York Baron suddenly seemed large and empty, but Abel felt no desire to return to Chicago, and Zaphia.
He decided to have an early dinner, and to go over the weekly reports from the other hotels in the group before retiring to the penthouse. He seldom ate alone in his private suite, preferring to eat in one of the dining rooms - which was a sure way of keeping in constant contact with hotel operations. The more hotels he acquired and built, the more he feared losing touch with his staff on the ground.
He took the elevator downstairs and stopped at the reception desk to ask how many guests were booked for the night, but was distracted by a striking woman signing a registration form. He could have sworn he knew her, but he was unable to get a good look at her face. When she had finished writing, she turned and smiled at him.
‘Abel,’ she said. ‘How marvellous to see you.’
‘Good God, Melanie. I hardly recognized you.’
‘No one could fail to recognize you, Abel.’
‘I didn’t even know you were in New York.’
‘Only overnight. I’m here on business for my magazine.’
‘You’re a journalist?’ asked Abel.
‘No, I’m the economic advisor to a group of magazines with headquarters in Dallas. I’m here on a market research project.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘I can assure you it isn’t. But it keeps me out of mischief.’
‘Are you free for dinner by any chance?’
‘What a nice idea, Abel. But I need a bath and a change of clothes, if you don’t mind waiting.’
‘Sure, I can wait. I’ll meet you in the dining room. Why don’t you join me in about an hour.’
She smiled a second time, and followed a bellhop to the elevator. Abel became aware of her perfume as she walked away.
He checked the dining room to be sure his table had fresh flowers, then went to the kitchen to select the dishes he thought she’d most enjoy. Finally he sat down at the corner table and waited impatiently. He found himself glancing at his watch every few minutes, and looking at the entrance hoping Melanie would appear. She took a little over an hour, but when the maitre d’ ushered her to his table it turned out to be worth the wait. She was wearing a long, clinging dress that shimmered and sparkled under the dining room lights in an unmistakably expensive way. She looked ravishing. Abel rose to greet her as a waiter opened a bottle of vintage Krug.
‘Welcome, Melanie,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘It’s good to see you still stay at the Baron.’
‘It’s good to see the Baron in person,’ she replied. ‘Especially on his day of triumph.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I read all about last night’s dinner in the New York Post, and how you risked your life to save the wounded at Remagen. They made you sound like a cross between Audie Murphy and the Unknown Soldier.’
‘It’s all rather exaggerated,’ said Abel.
‘I’ve never known you to be modest about anything, Abel, so I can only assume every word must be true.’
‘The truth is, I’ve always been a little frightened of you, Melanie.’
‘The Baron is frightened of someone? I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, I’m no southern gentleman, as you once made only too clear.’
‘And you never stop reminding me.’ She smiled, teasingly. ‘Did you marry your nice Polish girl?’
He poured her a second glass of champagne.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘How did that work out?’
‘Not so well. We’ve drifted apart, and in truth I’m to blame. Too many late nights.’
‘Wit
h other women?’
‘No. Other hotels.’
Melanie laughed, and gave him a warm smile.
‘And did you find yourself a husband?’
‘I sure did. I married a real southern gentleman with all the right credentials.’
‘Many congratulations.’
‘I divorced him last year - after accepting a large settlement.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Abel, sounding pleased. ‘More champagne?’
‘Are you by any chance trying to seduce me, Abel?’
‘Not before you’ve finished your soup, Melanie. Even first-generation Polish immigrants have some standards, although I admit it’s my turn to do the seducing.’
‘Then I must warn you, Abel, I haven’t slept with another man since my divorce came through. No lack of offers, but no one’s been quite right. Too many groping hands and not enough affection.’
Over smoked salmon, young lamb, creme brulee and a prewar Mouton Rothschild, they reviewed their lives since their last meeting.
‘Coffee in the penthouse, Melanie?’
‘Do I have any choice, after such an excellent meal?’
Abel laughed and escorted her out of the dining room. She was teetering very slightly on her high heels as she entered the elevator. Abel touched the button marked ‘42’. Melanie looked up at the numbers as they ticked by. ‘Why no seventeenth floor?’ she asked innocently. Abel couldn’t find the words to tell her.
‘The last time I had coffee in your room …’ Melanie tried again.
‘Don’t remind me,’ said Abel. They stepped out of the elevator on the 42nd floor, and the bellhop held open the door to his suite.
‘Good God,’ said Melanie as her eyes swept around the penthouse. ‘I must say, Abel, you’ve certainly learned how to adjust to the style of a multimillionaire. I’ve never seen anything more sumptuous in my life.’
A knock at the door stopped Abel as he was about to reach out for her. A young waiter appeared with a pot of coffee and a bottle of Remy Martin.
‘Thank you, Mike,’ said Abel. ‘That will be all for tonight.’
‘Will it?’ Melanie said, smiling.
The waiter left quickly.
Abel poured some coffee and brandy. Melanie sipped slowly, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Abel sat down beside her. She stroked his hair, and tentatively he began to move his hand up her leg. God, how well he remembered those legs. As they kissed for the first time, Melanie kicked a shoe off and knocked her coffee all over the Persian rug.
‘Oh, hell!’ she said. ‘Your beautiful rug.’
‘It’s not important,’ said Abel as he pulled her back into his arms and started to unzip her dress. Melanie unbuttoned his shirt, and Abel tried to take it off while still kissing her, but his cufflinks got in the way, so he helped her out of her dress instead. Her figure was exactly as he remembered it, except that it was enticingly fuller. Those firm breasts and long, graceful legs. He gave up the one-handed battle with the cufflinks and released her from his grasp to quickly undress, aware what a physical contrast he offered to her beautiful body and hoping that all he had read about women being fascinated by powerful men was true. Gently, he caressed her breasts and began to part her legs. The soft Persian rug was proving better than any bed. It was her turn to try to undress completely while they were kissing. She too gave up, and finally freed herself to take off everything except for - at Abel’s request - her suspender belt and nylon stockings.
When he heard her moan, he was aware of how long it had been since he had experienced such ecstasy, and then of how quickly the sensation passed. Neither of them spoke for several moments, both breathing heavily.
Then Abel chuckled.
‘What are you laughing at?’ Melanie asked.
‘I was just recalling Dr Johnson’s observation about the position being ridiculous and the pleasure momentary.’
Melanie laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. Abel was surprised to find that he no longer found her irresistible. He was wondering how quickly he could be rid of her without actually being rude, when she said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t stay all night, Abel. I have a breakfast appointment across at the Stevens. I don’t want to look as if I spent the night on your Persian rug.’
‘Must you go?’ said Abel, sounding desperate, but not too desperate.
‘I’m sorry, darling, yes.’ She stood up and walked to the bathroom.
Abel watched her dress, and helped her with the zipper. How much easier it was to fasten at leisure than it had been to unfasten in haste. He kissed her gallantly on the hand as she left.
‘I hope we’ll see each other again soon,’ he said, lying.
‘I hope so, too,’ she said, aware that she didn’t mean it.
He closed the door behind her and walked over to the phone by his bed. ‘Which room is Miss Melanie Leroy booked into?’ he asked.
There was a moment’s pause; he tapped impatiently on the table, listening to the flicking of the registration cards.
‘There’s no one registered under that name, sir,’ came the eventual reply. We have a Mrs Melanie Seaton from Dallas, Texas, who arrived this evening and checks out in the morning.’
‘Yes, that will be the lady. See that her bill is charged to me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Abel replaced the phone and took a long cold shower before going to bed. He was about to turn off the lamp that had illuminated his first adulterous act, when he noticed the large coffee stain in the middle of the Persian rug.
‘Clumsy bitch,’ he said as he switched off the light.
William recovered his vigour and sense of well-being rapidly over the following months, and the scars on his face and chest began to fade. At night Kate would still sit up with him until he fell asleep. The terrible headaches and periods of amnesia were now things of the past, and the strength had finally returned to his right arm.
Kate did not allow him to return to work until they had taken a long cruise in the Caribbean, on which William was able to relax more than at any time since his and Kate’s month together in England. Kate revelled in the fact that there were no banks on board for him to do business with, although she feared that if the cruise lasted another week he would acquire the ship on behalf of Lester’s, reorganizing the crew, routes and timings. By the time they docked in New York harbour, she could not dissuade him from returning to the bank the following morning.
Several more coffee stains appeared on Abel’s Persian rug during the next few months, some caused by compliant waitresses, others by non-paying hotel guests, as he and Zaphia grew further apart.
What he hadn’t anticipated was that his wife would hire a private detective to check on him, and would then sue for divorce. Divorce was almost unknown in Abel’s circle of Polish friends. He tried to talk her out of continuing with the action, aware that it would only harm his standing in the Polish community, but worse, it would be a setback to any social or political ambitions he had started to nurture. But Zaphia was determined to carry on with the proceedings. Abel was surprised to find that the woman who had been so unsophisticated in his triumph was, to use George’s words, a little vixen in her revenge.
When Abel consulted his lawyer, he found out just how many waitresses and non-paying guests he had entertained during the past year. He gave in. The only thing he fought for was custody of Florentyna, now almost thirteen, and the most important person in his life.
After a long struggle, Zaphia agreed to his demands, accepting a settlement of $500,000, the deeds to the house in Chicago and the right to see Florentyna on the last weekend of every month.
Abel moved his headquarters and permanent home to New York. George dubbed him ‘The Baron-in-Exile’ as he roamed America north and south building new hotels, only returning to Chicago when he needed to consult Curtis Fenton.
When the first report came in from Thaddeus Cohen, William was left in no doubt that Rosnovski was actively looking for stock in Lester’s Bank; he had appro
ached all the other beneficiaries of Charles Lester’s will, but only one transaction had been concluded. Susan Lester had refused to see Cohen, so he was unable to find out why she had sold her 6 per cent. All he could ascertain was that she had had no financial reason to do so.
The report was admirably comprehensive. Henry Osborne, it seemed, had been appointed a director of the Baron Group in May 1946, with special responsibility for securing Lester shares. Susan’s stock had been acquired in such a way that it was impossible to trace the acquisition back through either Rosnovski or Osborne. Cohen was certain that Rosnovski was willing to pay at least $750,000 to secure Peter Parfitt’s 2 per cent. William didn’t need to be reminded of the havoc Rosnovski could create once he was in possession of 8 per cent of Lester’s stock, and could invoke Article Seven. One problem for William was that Lester’s growth compared unfavourably with that of the Baron Group, which was already catching up with its main rivals, the Hilton and Sheraton groups.
He wondered again if he should brief his board of directors on this latest information, and even whether he ought to contact Rosnovski direct. After several sleepless nights, he turned to Kate for advice.
‘Do nothing,’ she said, ‘until you can be absolutely certain his intentions are as disruptive as you fear. The whole affair may turn out to be a storm in a teacup.’
‘With Henry Osborne involved, you can be certain the storm will spill over into the saucer and I can’t afford to sit around and wait to find out what he’s planning to do next.’
‘He might have mellowed, William. It’s more than twenty years since you’ve had any personal dealings with the man.’
William relaxed for a few days, until he read Thaddeus Cohen’s next report.
PART SIX
1948-1952
43
PRESIDENT TRUMAN won a surprise victory for a second term in the White House, despite headlines in the Chicago Tribune informing the world that Thomas E. Dewey was the next President of the United States. William knew very little about the haberdasher from Missouri, except what he read in the newspapers, and as a staunch Republican, he hoped that his party would find the right man to lead them into the 1952 campaign.
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