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'Yes - are you acquainted with him?'

'Only by reputation,' said Fenton, with a faint note of disapproval, his head bowed.

Abel ignored the implied comment. He was only too aware of Henry's reputation, but while he had the ability to cut out all the middle men of bureaucracy and could ensure quick political decisions, he considered the risk was worthwhile. Not to mention the bond of common loathing of Kane. 'I'm also inviting Mr. Osborne to be a director of the Baron Group with special responsibility for the Kane amount. This information must, as always, be treated in the strictest confidence!

'As you wish,' said Fenton unhappily, wondering if he should express his personal misgivings to Abel Rosnovski.

'Brief me as soon as you have closed the deal with Miss Susan Lester!

'Yes, Mr, Rosnovski,' said Curtis Fenton without raising his head.

Abel returned to the Baron for lunch, where Henry Osborne was waiting to join him.

'Congressman,' said Abel as they met in the foyer.

'Baron,' said Henry, and they laughed and went, arm-in-arm into the dining room and sat at the comer table.

Abel chastised a waiter for serving at table when a button was missing from his tunic.

'How's your wife, Abel?'

'Swell. And your's Henry?'

'Just great.'

They were both lying.

'Any news to report?'

'Yes. That concession you needed in Atlanta has been taken care of,' said Henry in a conspiratorial voice. 'The necessary documents will be pushed through some time in the next few days. You'll be able to start building the Atlanta Baron round the first of the month.'

'We're not doing anything too illegal, are we?'

'Nothing your competitors aren't up to - that I can promise you, Abel!' Henry Osborne laughed.

'I'm glad to hear that, Henry. I dont want any trouble with the law.'

'No, no,' said Henry. 'Only you and I know all the facts!

'Good,' said Abel. 'You've made yourself very useful to me over the years, Henry, and I have a little reward for your past services. How would you like to become a director of the Baron Group?'

'I'd be flattered, Abel!

'Don't give me that. You know you've been invaluable with these state and city permits. I'd never have had the time to deal with all those politicians and bureaucrats. In any case, Henry, they prefer to deal with a Harvard man even if he doesn't so much open doors, as simply kick them down.'

'You've been very generous in return, Abel.'

'It's no more than you have earned. Now, I want you to take on an even bigger job which is close to my heart. This exercise will also require complete secrecy, but it shouldn't take too much of your time and it will give us a little revenge on our mutual friend from Boston, Mr. William Kane!

The mattre d hotel arrived with two large nunp steaks, medium rare. Henry listened intently as Abel unfolded his plans for William Kane.

A few days later on 8 May 1946, Abel travelled to New York to celebrate the first anniversary of V-E day. He had laid on a dinner for over a thousand Polish veterans at the Baron Hotel and had invited General Kazimierz Sosnkowski, commander-in-chief of the Polish Forces in France after 1943, to be the guest of honour. Abel had looked forward impatiently to the event for weeks and took Florentyna, with him to New York while leaving Zaphia behind in Chicago. On the night of the celebration, the banqueting room of the New York Baron looked magnificent, each of the one hundred and twenty tables decorated with the stars and stripes of America and the white and red of the Polish national flag. Huge photographs of Eisenhower, Patton, Bradley, Hodges, Paderewski and Sikorski festooned the walls. Abel sat at the centre of the head table with the general ort his right and Florentyna on his left.

When General Sosnkowski rose to address the gathering, he announced that Lieutenant Colonel Rosnovski had been made a life president of the Polish Veterans' Society, in acknowledgment of the personal sacrifices he bad made for the Polish-American cause, and in particular for his generous gift of the New York Baron throughout the entire duration of the war.

Someone who had drunk a little too much shouted from the back of the roorn.

'Those of us who survived the Germans had to survive Abel's food as well.'

The thousand veterans laughed and cheered, toasted Abel in Danzig vodka and then fell silent as the general talked of the plight of post-war Poland, in the grip of Stalinist Russia, urging his fellow expatriates to be tireless in their campaign to secure the ultimate sovereignty of their native land. Abel wanted to believe that Poland would one day be free again and that he might even live to see his castle restored to him, but doubted if that was realistic after Stalin's success at the Yalta agreement.

The general went on to remind the guests that Polish Americans had, per capita, sacrificed more lives and given more money for the war than any other single ethnic group in the United States. '... How many Americans would believe that Poland lost six million of her countrymen while Czechoslovakia only lost one hundred thousand. Some observers declare 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 they were beaten and my friends I tell you we are not beaten now.' Every Pole in the room applauded the geneml loudly.

Abel felt sad to think that most Americans would still laugh at the thought of the Polish war effort - or, funnier still, a Polish war hero.

The general then waited for complete silence to tell an intent audience the story of how Abel had led a band of men to recover troops who had been killed or wounded at the battle of Remagen. When the general had finished his speech and sat down, the veterans stood and cheered the two men resoundingly. Florentyna felt very proud of her father.

Abel was surprised when the story hit the papers the next morning, as Polish achievements were rarely reported in any medium other than Dziennik Zwiazkiwy. He doubted that the press would have bothered on this occasion had he not been the Chicago Baron. Abel basked in his new-found glory as an un-surig American hero and spent most of the day having his photograph taken and giving interviews to newsmen.

By the evening Abel felt a sense of anti-climax. The general had flown on to Los Angeles and another function, Florentyna had returned to school in Lake Forest, George was in Chicago, and Henry Osborne in Washington.

The hotel seemed rather large and empty, and he felt no desire to return to Zaphia in Chicago.

He decided to have an early dinner and go over the weekly reports from the other hotels in the group before re turning to the penthouse adjoining his office. He seldom ate alone in his private suite as he welcomed the opportunity of being served in one of the dining rooms whenever pos ale; it was one of the sure ways to keep in constant touch with hotel life. The more hotels he acquired and built, the more he feared losing touch with his staff on the ground.

He took the lift, downstairs and stopped at the reception desk to ask how many people were booked into the hotel that night, but he was distracted by a striking woman signing a registration form. He could have sworn he recognised the profile, but it was difficult to be certain from the side.

Mid-thirties, he thought. When she had finished writing, she turned and looked at him.

'Abel,' she said. 'How marvellous to see you!

'Good God, Melanie. I hardly recognised you.'

'No one could fail to recognise you, Abel.'

'I didn't know you were in New York.'

'Only overnight. I'm here on some business for my magazine.'

'You're a journalist?' asked Abel with a hint of disbelief.

'No, I'm the economic advisor to a group of magazines whose headquarters are in Dallas, and they've sent me to New York on a market research project.'

'Sounds very impressive!

'I can assure you it isn't,' said Melanie, '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 main dining room whenever you're ready. Come to my table, say in about an hour.'

She smiled in agreement and followed a bellhop to the lift. He noticed her perfume as she passed him.

Abel spent the hour checking the dining room to be sure that his table had fresh flowers, and the kitchen to select the dishes he would order for Melanie. Finally, by lack of anything better to do, he was compelled to sit down. He found himself glancing at his watch and looking at the dining room door every few moments to see if Melanie would walk in. She took a little over an hour but it turned out to be worth the wait. When at last she appeared at the doorway, in a long clinging dress that shimmered and sparkled in the dining room lights in an unmistakably expensive way, she looked ravishing. The mattre d' ushered her to Abel's table. He rose to greet her as a waiter opened a bottle of vintage Krug and poured them both a glass.

'Welcome, Melanie,' said Abel as he raised his goblet. 'It's good to see you in the Baron.'

'It's good to see the Baron,' she replied, 'especially on his day of celebration.'

'What do you mean?' asked.Abel.

'I read all about your big dinner in the New York Post tonight, how you risked your own life to save those who had been wounded at Remagen. It kept me glued to the page all the way over here from the station. They made you sound like a cross between Audie Murphy and the Unknown Soldier.'

'It's all exaggerated,' said Abel.

'I've never known you to be modest about anything before, Abel, so I can only believe every word must be true.'

He poured her a second glass of champagne.

'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 very clear, my dear.'

'And you have never stopped reminding me.' She smiled, teasingly. 'Did you marry your nice Polish girl?'

'Yes, I did.'

'How did that work out?'

'Not so well. She's now fat and forty and no longer has any appeal for me.'

'You'll be telling me next that she doesn't understand you,' said Melanie, the tone of her voice betraying her pleasure at his reply.

'And did you find yourself a husband?' asked Abel.

'Oh, yes,' replied Melanie. 'I married a real Southern gentleman with all the right credentials!

'Many congratulations,' said Abel.

'I divorced him last year ... with 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 must 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!

After smoked salmon, young lamb, creme brulee and a pre-war Mouton Rothschild, they had both thoroughly reviewed their lives since their last meeting, 'Coffee in the penthouse, Melanie?'

'Do I have any choice, after such an excellent meal?' she enquired.

Abel laughed and escorted her out of the dining room and into the lift. She was teetering very slightly on her high heels as she entered. Abel touched the button marked 'forty-two'. Melanie looked up at the numbers as they ticked by.

'Why no twelfth floor?' she asked innocently. Abel could not find the words to reply.

'The last time I had coffee in your room Melanie tried again.

'Don't remind me,' said Abel, remembering his own vulnerability. As they stepped out of the lift on the forty-sec, ond floor, the bellhop opened the door of his suite.

'Good God,' said Melanie, as her eyes swept round the inside of the penthouse for the first time. 'I must say, Abel, you've learned how to adjust to the style of a multi-millionaire. I've never seen anything more extravagant 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 Reny Martin.

'Thank you Mike,' said Abel. 'That will be all for tonight!'

'Will it?' She smiled.

The waiter would have turned red if he hadn't been black and left quickly.

Abel poured her coffee and brandy. She sipped slowly, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Abel would have sat crosslegged as well, but he couldn't quite manage the position, so instead he lay down beside her. She stroked his hair, and tentatively he began to move his hand up her leg. God, how will he remembered those legs. As they kissed for the first time, Melanie kicked a shoe off and knocked her coffee all over the Persian carpet.

'Oh, hell,' she said. 'I've ruined your beautiful carpet!

'Forget it,' said Abel, as he pulled her back into his arms and started to unzip her dress. Melanie unbuttoned his shirt, and Abel tried to get it off while he was still kissing her, but his cufflinks stopped him, so he helped her out of her dress instead. Her figure had lost none of its beauty and 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 undress himself, aware what an abrupt physical contrast he must have appeared compared to her beautiful body. He hoped all he had read about women being fascinated by powerful men was true. She didn't seem to grimace as she once had at the sight of him. Gently, he caressed her breasts and began to part her legs. The Persian carpet 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 took off everything except for - at Abel's request - her garter belt and nylon stockings.