Kane & Abel (1979) (72 page)

‘Do you know how much I love you, Mr Kane?’

‘Yes, I think so - Mrs Kane,’ he replied.

A
BEL AND
G
EORGE
turned up at Florentyna’s apartment a few minutes after she and Richard had left for the airport.

Abel was already regretting the blow he had struck his daughter. He did not care to think about a life without his only child. If he could only reach her before it was too late, he might, with gentle persuasion, still talk her out of marrying the Kane boy. He was willing to offer her anything,
anything
, to prevent the marriage.

George rang the bell twice, but no one answered, so Abel used the key Florentyna had left with him for emergencies. They looked in all the rooms, not expecting to find her.

‘She must have left already,’ said George as he joined Abel in the bedroom.

‘Yes, but where?’ said Abel, checking the empty drawers. Then he spotted the envelope on the bedside table, addressed to him. He remembered the last time a letter had been left for him by the side of a bed that had not been slept in. He ripped it open:

Abel collapsed on the bed and passed the letter to George. When George had read it he asked helplessly, ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Yes, George. I want my daughter back, even if it means having to deal with that bastard Kane. There’s only one thing I’m certain of: he’ll want to stop this marriage whatever sacrifice he has to make. Get him on the phone.’

It took George some time to locate William Kane’s unlisted home number. The night security officer at Lester’s Bank finally gave it to him when George insisted it was a family emergency. Abel sat on the bed in silence, Florentyna’s letter in his hand, reading again the Polish proverb he had taught her as a little girl that she had now quoted to him. When George reached the Kane residence, a formal voice answered the phone.

‘May I speak to Mr William Kane?’ asked George.

‘Who shall I say is calling?’

‘Mr Abel Rosnovski,’ said George.

‘I’ll see if he’s in, sir.’

‘I think that was Kane’s butler. He’s gone to look for him,’ said George as he passed the receiver over to Abel. Abel waited, his fingers tapping on the bedside table.

‘William Kane speaking.’

‘This is Abel Rosnovski.’

‘Indeed?’ William’s tone was icy. ‘And when exactly did you think of setting up your daughter with my son? At the time, no doubt, when you failed so conspicuously to cause the collapse of my bank.’

‘Don’t be such a damn—’ Abel checked himself. ‘I want this marriage stopped every bit as much as you do. I only learned of your son’s existence today. I love my daughter even more than I hate you, and I don’t want to lose her. Can’t we get together and work something out between us?’

‘No,’ said William. ‘I asked you that same question once in the past, Mr Rosnovski, and you made it abundantly clear when and where we would next meet.’

‘What’s the good of raking over the past now, Kane? If you know where they are, perhaps we can stop them. That’s what you want too. Or are you so goddamn proud that you’ll stand by and watch your son marry my daughter rather than help—’

The telephone clicked as he spoke the word
help
. Abel buried his face in his hands and wept. George took him back to the Baron.

Through that night and the following day, Abel used every shred of influence he had, and every contact he could call on to find Florentyna. He even rang her mother, who took pleasure in letting him know that their daughter had told her all about Richard Kane some time ago.

‘He sounded rather nice,’ she added.

‘Do you know where they are right now?’ Abel asked desperately.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Where?’

‘Find out for yourself.’ Another telephone click.

During the next few days Abel placed advertisements in newspapers, and even bought radio time. He tried to get the police involved, but they would only put out a general call, as Florentyna was over twenty-one. Finally he resigned himself to the likelihood that she would be married to the Kane boy by the time he caught up with her.

He reread her letter many times, and resolved that he would never attempt to harm the boy in any way. But the father - that was a different matter. He, Abel Rosnovski, had practically gone down on his knees and pleaded with the man, and he hadn’t even listened. As soon as the chance presented itself, he would finish William Kane off once and for all.

George became fearful of the intensity of his old friend’s determination. ‘Shall I cancel your European trip?’ he asked.

Abel had completely forgotten that Florentyna had planned to accompany him to Europe when she had finished her two years with Bloomingdale’s at the end of the month. She had been going to open both the Edinburgh and the Cannes Barons.

‘I can’t cancel,’ he replied, although he now didn’t care who opened the hotels, or even whether they were opened at all. While I’m away, George, keep looking for Florentyna. But if you find her, don’t let her know. She mustn’t think I’m spying on her; she’d never forgive me if she found out. Your best bet may be Zaphia, but be careful, because you can be sure she’ll take every advantage of what has happened.’

‘Do you want Osborne to do anything about Lester’s stock?’

‘No, nothing for the moment. Now is not the appropriate time to finish Kane off. When I do, I want to be certain that he can’t recover. Leave Kane alone for the time being. For now, concentrate on finding Florentyna.’

Three weeks later, Abel opened the Edinburgh Baron. The hotel looked quite magnificent as it stood on the hill dominating the Athens of the North. Long before Abel opened a new hotel, he would go over everything himself because he knew that it was the little things that annoyed customers. A small electric shock caused by nylon carpets when you touched a light switch, room service that took forty minutes to materialize or rubber pillows that curled around one’s ears.

The press had expected Florentyna Rosnovski, the daughter of the Chicago Baron, to perform the opening ceremony, and a gossip columnist on the
Sunday Express
hinted at a family rift and reported that Abel had not been his usual exuberant, bouncy self. Abel denied the suggestion unconvincingly, retorting that he was over fifty - not an age for bouncing, his public relations man had told him to say. The press remained unconvinced, and the following day the
Daily Mail
printed a photograph of a discarded engraved bronze plaque discovered in a dumpster at the back of the hotel, that read:

Abel flew on to Cannes. Another splendid hotel, this time overlooking the Mediterranean, but it didn’t help him get Florentyna out of his mind. Another discarded plaque, this one in French.

Abel was beginning to dread the thought that he might spend the rest of his life without seeing his daughter again. To kill the loneliness, he slept with some very expensive and some rather cheap women. None of them helped. William Kane’s son now possessed the only person Abel Rosnovski truly cared for.

France no longer held any excitement for him, and once he had finished his business there, he flew on to Bonn, where he completed negotiations for the site on which he would build the first Baron in Germany. He kept in constant touch with George by phone, but Florentyna had not been found. And there was some disturbing news concerning Henry Osborne.

‘He’s got himself in heavy debt with the bookmakers again,’ said George.

‘I warned him last time that I was through bailing him out,’ said Abel. ‘He’s been no damn use to anyone since he lost his seat in Congress. I’ll deal with the problem when I get back.’

‘He’s making threats,’ said George.

‘What’s new about that? I’ve never let them worry me in the past,’ said Abel. ‘Tell him whatever it is he wants, it will have to wait until my return.’

‘When do you expect to be back?’

‘Three weeks, four at the most. I want to look at some sites in Turkey and Egypt. Hilton and Marriott have started building there, and I need to find out why.’

Abel spent more than three weeks looking at sites for hotels in the Arab states. His advisors were legion, most of them claiming the title of Prince and assuring him that they had real influence as a cousin, or a very close personal friend, of the key minister. However, it always turned out to be the wrong minister or too distant a cousin. Abel had no objection to bribery, as long as it ended up in the right hands and in the Middle East
baksheesh
seemed to be accepted as part of the business culture. In America, it was a little more discreet but Henry Osborne had always known which officials needed to be taken care of. The only solid conclusion Abel reached, after twenty-three days in the dust, sand and heat with a glass of soda but no whiskey, was that if his advisors’ forecasts about the future importance of the Middle East’s oil reserves were accurate, the Gulf States were going to want a lot of hotels, and the Baron Group needed to start planning immediately if it was not going to be left behind.

Abel flew on to Istanbul, where he immediately found the perfect site to build a hotel, overlooking the Bosphorus, only a hundred yards from the old British Consulate. As he stood on the barren ground of his latest acquisition he recalled when he had last been there. He clung onto the silver band that had saved his life. He could hear once again the cries of the mob - it still made him feel frightened and sick although more than thirty years had passed.

Exhausted from his travels, Abel flew home to New York. During the interminable flight he thought of little but Florentyna. As always, George was waiting outside the customs gate to meet him. His expression indicated nothing.

‘What news?’ asked Abel as he climbed into the back of the Cadillac while the chauffeur put his bags in the trunk.

‘Some good, some bad,’ said George, touching a button which caused a sheet of glass to glide up between the driver and passenger sections of the car. ‘Florentyna has been in touch with Zaphia. She’s living in a small house in San Francisco with some old friends from Radcliffe days.’

‘Married?’ asked Abel.

‘Yes.’

Neither spoke for some time.

‘And the Kane boy?’

‘He’s found a job in a bank. It seems a lot of places turned him down, partly because word got around that he didn’t complete his course at the Harvard Business School, but mainly because they were afraid that by employing him they’d antagonize his father. He was finally hired as a teller with the Bank of America. Far below what he might have expected with his qualifications.’

‘And Florentyna?’

‘She’s working as the assistant manager in a fashion shop called Wayout Columbus near Golden Gate Park. She’s also trying to borrow money from several banks.’

‘Why? Is she in any sort of trouble?’ asked Abel anxiously.

‘No, she’s looking for capital to open her own shop.’

‘How much has she been asking for?’

‘She needs thirty-four thousand dollars for the lease on a small building on Nob Hill.’