第 37 页

'And you say Curtis Fenton of Continental Trust is looking for a buyer on your behalf ?'

'Yes, he has been for nearly a month,' said Abel. 'In fact, I shall know later this afternoon if they've had any success, but I'm not optin-Aistic.'

'Well, that's most interesting. I had no idea the Richmond Group was looking for a buyer. Will you please keep me informed either way?'

'Certainly,' said Abel.

'How much more time is the Boston bank giving you to find the two million?'

'Only a few more days, so it won't be long before I can let you know my decision.'

'Thank you,' said Maxton. 'It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rosnovski. I feel sure I'd enjoy working with you.' He shook Abel warmly by the hand.

'Thank you, sir,'said Abel.

The waitress smiled at him again as he passed her on his way out of the dining room. When Abel reached the head waiter, he stopped and enquired what her name was.

'I'm sorry, sir, we're not allowed to give the names of any of our staff to the customers; it's strictly against company policy. If you have a complaint, perhaps you'd be kind enough to make it to me, sir.'

'No complaint,' said Abel. 'On the contrary, an excellent lunch.'

With a job offer under his belt, Abel felt more confident about facing Curtis Fenton. He was certain the banker would not have found a buyer, but none the less, he strolled over to the Continental Trust with a spring in his heels. He liked the idea of being the manager of the best hotel in Chicago: Perhaps he could make it the best hotel in America. As soon as he arrived at the bank, he was ushered directly into Curtis Fenton's office. The tall, thin banker - did he wear the same suit every day or did he have three identical ones? - offered Abel a seat, and a large smile appeared across his usually solemn face.

'Mr. Rosnovski, how good to see you again. If you had come this morning, I would have had no news to give you, but only a few moments ago I received a call from an interested party.' Abel's heart leaped with surprise and pleasure. He was silent for a few moments and then he said, 'Can you tell me who it is?'

'I'm afraid not. The party concerned has given me strict instructions that he must remain anonymous, as the transaction would be a private investment in some potential conflict with his own business.'

'David Maxton,' Abel murmured under his breath. 'God bless him.'

Curtis Fenton did not respond and continued. 'Well, as I said, Mr. Rosnovski, I'm not in a position. . .'

'Quite, quite,' said Abel. 'How long do you think it will be before you are in a position to let me know the gentleman's decision one way or the other?'

'I can't be sure at the moment, but I may have more news for you by Monday, so if you happen to be passing by. . .'

'Happen to be passing by?' said Abel. 'You're discussing my whole life.'

'Then perhaps we should make a firm appointment for Monday morning.'

As Abel walked down Michigan Avenue on his way back to the Stevens it started to drizzzle. He found himself humming 'Singing in the Rain'. He took the lift up to his room and called William Kane to ask for an extension until the following Monday, telling him he hoped to have found a buyer. Kane seemed reluctant but eventually agreed.

'Bastard,' Abel repeated several times as he put the phone back on the hook. 'Just give me a little time, Kane. Yo will live to regret killing Davis Leroy.'

Abel sat on the end of his bed, his fingers tapping on the rail, wondering how he could pass the time waiting for Monday. He wandered down into the hotel lobby. There she was again, the waitress who bad served him at lunch, now on tea duty in the Tropical Garden. Abel's curiosity got the better of him, and he went over and took a seat at the far side of the room. She came up.

'Good afternoon, sir,' she said. 'Would you like some tea?' The same familiar smile again.

'We know each other, don't we?' said Abel.

'Yes, we do, Wladek.'

Abel cringed at the sound of the name and reddened slightly, remembering how the short fair hair had been long and smooth and the veiled eyes had been so inviting.

'Zaphia, we came to America on the same ship. Of course, you went to Chicago. What are you doing here?'

'I work here, as you can see. Would you like some tea, sir?' Her Polish accent warmed Abel.

'Have dinner with me tonight,' he said.

'I can't, Wladek. We're not allowed to go out with the customers. If we do, we automatically lose our jobs.'

'I'm not a customer,' said Abel, 'I'm an old friend!'

'Who was going to come and visit me in Chicago as soon as he had settled down, and when you did come you didn't even remember I was here,' said Zaphia.

'I know, I know. Forgive me. Zaphia, have dinner with me tonight. just this once,' said Abel.

'Just this once,' she repeated.

'Meet me at Brundage's at seven o'clock. Would that suit you?'

Zaphia flushed at the name. It was probably the most expensive restaurant in Chicago, and she would have been nervous to be there as a waitress, let alone as a customer.

'No, let's go somewhere less grand, Wladek.'

'Where?' said Abel.

'Do you know The Sausage on the corner of Forty-third?'

'No, I don't,' he admitted, 'but I'll find it. Seven o'clock.'

'Seven o'clock, Wladek. That will be lovely. By the way, do you want any tea?'

'No, I think I'll skip it,' said Abel.

She smiled and walked away. He sat watching her serve tea for several minutes. She was much prettier than he had remembered her being. Perhaps killing time until Monday wasn't going to be so bad after all.

The Sausage brought back all of Abel's worst memories of his first days in America. He sipped a cold ginger beer while he waited for Zaphia and watched with professional disapproval as the waiters slapped the food around. He was unable to decide which looked worse: the service or the food. Zaphia was nearly twenty minutes late by the time she appeared in the doorway, as smart as a band-box in a crisp yellow dress that looked as if it had been recently taken up a few inches to conform with the latest fashion, but still revealed how appealing her formerly slight body had become. Her grey eyes searched the tables for Wladek, and her pink cheeks reddened as she became conscious of other men's eyes upon her.

'Good evening, Wladek,' she said in Polish.

Abel rose and offered her his chair near the fire. 'I am so glad you could make it,'he replied in English.

She looked perplexed for a moment, then, in English, she said, 'I'm sorry I'm late!'

'Oh, I hadn't noticed. Would you like somet1ting to drink, Zaphia?'

'No, thank you.'

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and then they both tried to talk at once.

'I'd forgotten how pretty. . .'said Abel.

'How have you.. .'said Zaphia.

She smiled shyly, and Abel wanted to touch her. He remembered so well experiencing the same reaction the first time he had ever seen her, over eight years before.

'How's George?' she asked.

'I haven't seen him for over two years,' replied Abel, suddenly feeling guilty. 'I've been stuck working in a hotel here in Chicago, and then.. .'

'I know,' said Zaphia. 'Somebody burnt the place down!'

'Why didn't you ever come over and say hello?' asked Abel.

'I didn't think you'd remember, Wladek, and I was right.'

'Then how did you ever recognise me?' said AbeL 'I've put on so much weight.'

'The silver band,' she said simply.

Abel looked down at his wrist and laughed. 'I have a lot to thank my band for, and now I can add that it has brought us back together.'

She avoided his eyes. 'What are you doing now that you no longer have a hotel to run?'

'I'm looking for a job,' said Abel, not wanting to intimidate her with the fact that he'd been offered the chance to manage the Stevens.

'There's a big job coming up at the Stevens. My boyfriend told me!'

'Your boyfriend told you?' said Abel, repeating each painful word.

'Yes,' she said, 'the hotel will soon be looking for a new assistant manager. Why don't you apply for the job? I'm sure you'd have a good chance of getting it, Wladek. I always knew you would be a success in America.'

'I might well apply,' Abel said. 'It was kind of you to think of me. Why doesn't your boyfriend apply?'

'Oh, no, he's far too junior to be considered; he's only a waiter in the dining room with me.'

Suddenly Abel wanted to change places with him.

'Shall we have dinner?' he said.

'I'm not used to eating out,' Zaphia said. She gazed at the menu in indecision. Abel, suddenly aware she still could not read English, ordered for them both.

She ate with relish and was full of praise for the indifferent food. Abel found her uncritical enthusiasm a tonic after the bored sophistication of Melanie. They exchanged the history of their lives in America. Zaphia had started in domestic service and progressed to being a waitress at the Stevens where she had stayed put for six years. Abel told her of all his experiences until finallyshe glanced at his watch.

'Look at the time, Wladek,' she said, 'it's past eleven and I'm on first breakfast call at six tomorrow!'

Abel had not noticed the four hours pass. He would have happily sat there talking to her for the rest of the night, soothed by her admiration which she confessed so artlessly.

'May I see you again, Zaphia?' he asked, as they walked back to the Stevens arm-in-arm.

'If you want to, Wladek.'

They stopped at the servants' entrance-at the back of the hotel.

'This is where I go in,' she said. 'If you were to become the assistant Manager, Wladek, you'd be allowed to go in by the front entrance.'

'Would you mind calling me Abel?' he asked her.

'Abel?' she said, as if she were trying the name on like a new glove. 'But your name is Wladek.'

'It was, but it isn't any longer. My name is Abel Rosnovski.'

'Abel's a funny-name, but it suits you,' she said. 'Thank you for dinner, Abel. It was lovely to see you again. Good night.'

'Good night, Zaphia,' he said, and she was gone.

He watched her disappear through the servants' entrance, then he walked slowly around the block and into the hotel by the front entrance. Suddenly - and not for the first time in his life - he felt very lonely.

Abel spent the weekend thinking about Zaphia and the images associated with her - the stench of the steerage quarters, the confused queues of immigrants on Ellis Island and, above all, their brief but passionate encounter in the lifeboat. He took all his meals in the hotel restaurant to be near her and to study the boyfriend. He came to the conclusion that he must be the young, pimply one. He thought he had pimples, be hoped he had pimples, yes, he did have pimples. He was, regrettably, the best-lo6king boy among the waiters, pimples notwithstanding.

Abel wanted to take Zaphia out on Saturday, but she was working all day.

Nevertheless, he managed to accompany her to church on Sunday morning and listened with mingled nostalgia and exasperation to the Polish priest intoning the unforgotten words of the Mass. It was the first time Abel had been in a church since his days at the castle in Poland. At that time he had yet to see or endure the cruelty which now made it impossible for him to believe in any benevolent deity. His reward for attending church came when Zaphia allowed him to hold her hand as they walked back to the hotel together.

'Have you thought any more about the position at the Stevens?' she enquired.

'I'll know first thing tomorrow morning what their final decision is.'

'Oh, I'm so glad, Abel. I'm sure you would make a very good assistant manager.'

'Thank you,' said Abel, realising they had been talking at cross purposes.

'Would you like to have supper with my cousins tonight?' Zaphia asked. 'I always spend Sunday evening with them.'

'Yes, I'd like that very much.'

Zaphia's cousins lived right near The Sausage itself, in the heart of the city. They were very impressed when she arrived with a Polish friend who drove a new Buick. The family, as Zaphia called them, consisted of two sisters, Katya and Janina, and Katya's husband, Janek. Abel presented the sisters with a bunch of roses and then sat down and answered, in fluent Polish, all their questions about his future prospects. Zaphia was obviously embarrassed, but Abel knew the same would be required of any new boyfriend in any Polish-American household. He made an effort to play down his progress since his early days in the butcher shop as he was conscious of Janek's envious eyes never leaving him. Katya served a simple Polish meal of pierogi and bigos which Abel would have eaten with a good deal more relish fifteen years earlier. He gave Janek up as a bad job and concentrated on making the sisters approve of him. It looked as though they did. Perhaps they also approved of the pimply youth.

No, they couldn't; he wasn't even Polish - or maybe he was - Abel didn't even know his name and had never heard him speak.

On the way back to the Stevens, Zaphia asked, with a flash of coquettishness he remembered, if it was considered safe to drive a motor car and hold a lady's hand at the same time. Abel laughed and put his hand back on the steering wheel for the rest of the drive back to the hotel.

'Will you have time to see me tomorrow?' he asked.

'I hope so, Abel,' she said. 'Perhaps by then you'll be my boss. Good luck anyway.'

He smiled to himself as he watched her go through the back door, wondering how she would feel if she knew the real consequences of tomorrow's decision. He did not move until she disappeared through the service entrance.