第 34 页

'Who are you calling, Mr. Rosnovski?' asked a primsounding lady.

Abet looked down at the name on the piece of paper in front of him and said it firmly.

'I'll put you through.'

'Good morning,' said an authoritative voice. 'May I help you?'

'I hope so. My name is Abel Rosnovski,' began Abel nervously. 'I am the manager of the Richmond Chicago and wanted to make an appointment to see you and discuss the future of the Richmond Group!'

'I have no authority to deal with anyone except Mr. Davis Leroy,'said the clipped accent.

'But I own twenty-five per cent of the Richmond Group,' said Abel.

'nen no doubt someone will explain to you that until you own fifty-one per cent you are in no position to deal with the bank unles you have the authority of Mr. Davis Leroy.'

'But he's a close personal friend. . .'

'I don't doubt that, Mr. Rosnovski.'

'I... and I'm trying to help.'

'Has Mr. Leroy given you the authority to represent him?'

'No, but.. .'

'Then I am sorry. It would be most unprofessional of me to continue this conversation.'

'You couldn't be less helpful, could you?' asked Abel, immediately regretting his words.

'That is no doubt how you see it, Mr. Rosnovski. Good day, sir.'

Oh, to hell with you, thought Abel, slanuning down the phone, even more worried about what he could do next to help Davis. He didn't have long to find out.

The next evening Abel spotted Melanie in the restaurant, not displaying her usual well-groomed confidence but looking tired and anxious, and he nearly asked her if everything was all right. He decided against approaching her and, as he left the dining room to go to his office, he found Davis Leroy standing alone in the front hall. He had on the checked jacket that he was wearing the first day he had approached Abel at the Plaza.

'Is Melanie in the dining room?'

"Yes,' said Abel. 'I didn't know you were coming into town today, Davis. I'll get the Presidential Suite ready for you immediately!'

'Only for one night, Abel, and I'd like to see you in private later!'

'Certainly.'

Abel didn't like the sound of 'in private'. Had Melanie been complaining to her father; was that why he had not found it possible to get a decision out of Davis during the last few days?

Davis Leroy hurried past him into the dining room while Abel went over to the reception desk to check on whether the suite on floor seventeen was available. Half the rooms in the hotel were unoccupied and it came as no surprise that the Presidential Suite was free. Abel booked his employer in and then waited by the reception desk for over an hour. He saw Melanie leave, her face blotched as if she had been crying. Her father followed her out of the dining room, a few minuteslater.

'Get yourself a bottle of bourbon, Abel - don't tell me we don't have one - and then join me in my suite.'

Abel picked up two bottles of bourbon from his safe and joined Leroy in the Presidential Suite on the twelfth floor, still wondering if Melanie had said anything to her father.

'Open the bottle and pour yourself a very large one, Abel,' Davis Leroy instructed.

Once again Abel felt the fear of the unknown. The palms of his hands began to sweat. Surely he was not going to be fired for wanting to marry the boss's daughter? He and Leroy had been friends for over a year now, close friends. He did not have to wait long to find out what the unknown was.

'Finish your bourbon.'

Abel put the drink down in one gulp, and Davis Leroy swallowed his.

'Abel, I'm wiped out.' He paused, and poured both of them another drink. 'So is half America, come to think of it.'

Abel did not speak, partly because he could not think of what to say.

They sat staring at each other for several minutes, then after another glass of bourbon, he managed, 'But you still own eleven hotels!'

'Used to own,' said Davis Leroy. 'Have to put it in the past tense now, Abel. I no longer own any of them; the bank took possession of the freeholds last Thursday.'

'But they belong to you, they have been in your family for two generations,' said Abel.

'They were, They aren't any longer. Now they belong to a bank. There's no reason why you shouldn't know the whole truth, Abel; the same thing's happening to almost everyone in America right now, big or small. About ten years ago I borrowed two million dollars using the hotels as collateral and invested the money right across the board in stocks and bonds, fairly conservatively and in well-established companies. I built the capital up to nearly five million, which was one of the reasons the hotel losses'never bothered me too much - they were always tax deductible against the profit I was making in the market. Today I couldn't give those shares away. We may as well use them as toilet paper in the eleven hotels. For the last three weeks I've been selling as fast as I can, but there are no buyers left. The bank foreclosed on my loan last Thursday?'

Abel couldnt help remembering that it was on a Thursday when he spoke to the banker. 'Most people who are affected by the crash have only pieces of paper to cover their loans, but in my case the bank who backed me has the deeds on the eleven hotels as security against their original loan. So when the bottom dropped out, they immediately took possession of them. The bastards have let me know that they intend to sell the group as quickly as possible!'

'That's madness. Theyll get nothing for them right now, and if they supported us through this period, together we could show them a good return on their investment!'

'I know you could, Abel, but they have my past record to throw back in my face. I went up to their main office to suggest just that. I explained about you and told them I would put all my time into the group if they would give us their backing, but they weren't interested. They fobbed me off with some smooth young puppy who had a the text book answers about cash flows, no capital base and credit restric tions. By God, if I ever get back, I'll screw him personally and then his bank. Right now the best thing we can do is get ourselves uproariously drunk, because I am finished, penniless, bankrupt!'

'Then so am I,' said Abel quietly.

'No, you have a great future ahead of you, son. Anyone who takes over this group couldret make a move without you!'

'You forget that I own twenty-five per cent of the group!'

Davis Leroy stared at him It was obvious that that fact had slipped his mind.

'Oh my God, Abel, I hope you didn't put all your money into me.'His voice was becoming thick.

'Every last cent,' said Abel. 'But I don't regret it, Davis. Better to lose with a wise man than win with a fool! He poured himself another bourbon.

The tears were standing in the corners of Davis Leroy's eyes. 'You know, Abel, you're the best friend a man could ask for. You knock this hotel into shape, you invest your own money, I make you penniless, and you don't even complain, and then for good measure my daughter refuses to marry you.'

'You didn't mind me asking her?' said Abel, less increddlous than he would have been without the bourbon.

'Silly little bitch, doesn't know a good thing when she sees one. She wants to marry some horse-breeding gentleman from the South with three Confederate generals in his family tree or if she does marry a Northerner, his great grandfather has to have come over on The Mayflower. If everyone who claims they had a relative on that boat were ever on board together, the whole damn thing would have sunk a thousand times before it reach America. Too bad I don't have another daughter for you, Abel. No one has served me more loyally than you have. I sure would have been proud to have you as a member of the family. You and I would have made a great team, but I still reckon you can beat them all by yourself. You're young, you still have everything ahead of you.'

At twenty-three Abel suddenly felt very old.

'Thank you for your confidence, Davis,' he said, 'and who gives a damn for the stock market anyway? You know, you're the best friend I ever had.' The drink was beginning to talk.

Abel poured himself yet another bourbon and threw it down. Between them they had finished both bottles by early morning. When Davis fell asleep in his chair, Abel managed to stagger down to the tenth floor, undress and collapse on to his own bed. He was awakened from a heavy sleep by a loud banging on the door. His head was going round and round, but the banging went on and on, louder and louder. Somehow he managed to get himself off the bed and grope his way to the door. It was a bellboy.

'Come quickly, Mr. Abel, come quickly,' he said as he ran down the hall.

Abel threw on a dressing gown and slippers and staggered down the corridor to join the bellboy, who was holding bark the lift door for him- 'Quickly, Mr. Abel,' he repeated.

'What's the hurry?' demanded Abel, his head still going around as the lift moved slowly down. Then he recalled the evening's talk. Maybe the bank had come to take possession.

'Someone has jumped out the window.'

Abel sobered up immediately. 'A guest?'

'Yes, I think so,' said the bellboy, 'but I'm not sure.'

The lift came to a stop at the ground floor. Abel thrust back the iron gates and ran out into die street. The police were already there. He wouldn't have recognised the body if it had not been for the checked jacket. A policeman was taking down details. A man in plainclothes came over to Abel.

'You the manager?'

'Yes, I am.'

'Do you have any idea who this man might be?'

'Yes,' said Abel, slurring the word. 'His name is Davis Leroy.'

'Do you know where he's from or how we contact his next of kin?'

Abel averted his eyes away from the broken body and answered automatically.

'He's from Dallas and a Miss Melanie Leroy, his daughter, is his next of kin. She's a student living out on the Chicago University campus.'

'Right, we'll get someone right over to her.'

'No, don't do that. I'll go and see her myself,' said Abel.

'Thank you. It's always better if they don't hear the news from a stranger!'

'What a terrible, unnecessary thing to do,' said Abel, his eyes drawn back to the body of his friend.

'It's the seventh in Chicago today,' said the officer flatly as he closed his little black notebook and strolled over towards the ambulance.

Abel watched the stretcher bearers remove Davis Leroy's body from the pavement. He felt cold, sank to his knees and was violently sick in the gutter. Once again he had lost his closest friend. Maybe if he had drunk less and thought more, he might have saved him. He picked himself up and returned to his room, took a long, cold shower and somehow managed to get himself dressed. He ordered some black coffee and then, reluctantly, went up to the Presidential Suite and unlocked the door. Other than a couple of empty bourbon bottles, there seemed to be no sign of the drama that had been enacted a few minutes earlier. Then he saw the letters on the side table by a bed which had not been slept in. The first was addressed to Melanie, the second to a lawyer in Dallas and the third to Abel. He tore his open but could barely read Davis Leroy's last words.

Dear Abel, I'm taking the only way out after the bank's decision. There is nothing left for me to live for; I am far too old to start over. I want you to know I believe you're the one person who might make something good come out of this terrible mess.

I have made a new will in which I have left you the other seventy-five per cent of the shares in the Richmond Group. I realise they are worthless, but the stock will secure your position as the legal owner of the group. As you had the guts to buy twenty-five per cent with your own money, you deserve the right to see if you can make some deal with the bank. I've left everything else I own, including the house, to Melanie.

Please be the one who tells her. Don't let it be the police. I would have been proud to have you as a son-in-law, partner.

Your friend, Davis

Abel read the letter again and again and then folded it neatly and put it into his wallet.

He went over to the university campus later that morning and broke the news as gently as he could to Melanie. He sat nervously on the couch, unsure what he could add to the bland statement of death. She took it surprisingly well, almost as if she had known what was going to happen. No tears in front of Abel - perhaps later when he wasn't there. He felt sorry for her for the first time in his life.

Abel returned to the hotel and decided not to have any lunch and asked a waiter to bring him a tomato juice while he went over his mail. There was a letter from Curtis Fenton at the Continental Trust Bank. It was obviously going to be a day for letters. Fenton had received the advice that a Boston bank called Kane and Cabot had taken over the financial responsibility of the Richmond Group. For the time being, business was to continue as usual, until meetings had been arranged with Mr. Davis Leroy to discuss the disposal of all the hotels in the group. Abel sat staring at the words, and after a second tomato juice, he drafted a letter to the chairman of Kane and Cabot, a Mr. Alan Lloyd. He received a reply some five days later asking Abel to attend a meeting in Boston on 4 January to discuss the liquidation of the group with the director in charge of bankruptcies. The interval would give the bank enough time to sort out the implication's of Mr. Leroy's sudden and tragic death.

Sudden and tragic death? 'And who caused that death?' said Abel aloud in a fury, suddenly remembering Davis Leroy's own words. 'They fobbed me off with some smooth young puppy ... By God, if I ever get back, I'll screw him personally and then his bank!'

'Don't worry, Davis, I'll finish the job for you,' Abel said out loud.

Abel ran the Richmond hotel during the last weeks of that year with rigid control of his staff and prices and only just managed to keep his head above water. He couldn't help wondering what was happening to the other ten hotels in the group, but he didn't have the time to find out and it was no longer his responsibility anyway.