The Prodigal Daughter

Chapter one

It had not been an easy birth, but then for Abel and Zaphia Rosnovski nothing had ever been easy, and in their own ways they had both become philosophical about that. Abel had wanted a son, an heir who would one day be chairman of the Baron Group. By the time the boy would be ready to take over, Abel was confident, his own name would stand alongside those of Ritz and Statler, and by then the Barons would be the largest hotel group in the world. Abel had paced up and down the colorless corridor of St. Luke’s General Hospital waiting for the first cry, his slight limp becoming more pronounced as each hour passed. Occasionally he twisted the silver band that encircled his wrist and stared at the name so neatly engraved on it. Abel had never doubted, even for a moment, that his first-born would be a boy. He turned and retraced his steps once again, to see Dr. Dodek heading toward him.

‘Congratulations, Mr. Rosnovski,’ he called.

‘Thank you,’ said Abel eagerly.

‘You have a beautiful girl,’ the doctor said as he reached him.

‘Thank you,’ repeated Abel quietly, trying not to show his disappointment. He then followed the obstetrician into a little room at the other end of the corridor. Through an observation window, Abel was faced with a row of wrinkled faces. The doctor pointed to the father’s firstborn. Unlike the others, her little fingers were curled into a tight fist. Abel had read somewhere that a child was not expected to do that for at least three weeks. He smiled, proudly.

Mother and daughter remained at St. Luke’s for another six days and Abel visited them every morning, leaving his hotel only when the last breakfast had been served, and every afternoon after the last lunch guest had left the dining room. Telegrams, flowers and the recent fashion of greeting cards surrounded Zaphia’s iron-framed bed, reassuring evidence that other people too rejoiced in the birth. On the seventh day mother and unnamed child — Abel had considered six boys’ names before the birth — returned home.

On the anniversary of the second week of their daughter’s birth they named her Florentyna, after Abel’s sister. Once the infant had been installed in the newly decorated nursery at the top of the house, Abel would spend hours simply staring down at his daughter, watching her sleep and wake, knowing that he must work even harder than he had in the past to ensure the child’s future. He was determined that Florentyna would be given a better start in life than he had had. Not for her the dirt and deprivation of his childhood or the humiliation of arriving on the Eastern Seaboard of America as an immigrant with little more than a few valueless Russian rubles sewn into the jacket of an only suit.

He would ensure that Florentyna was given the formal education he had lacked, not that he had a lot to complain about. Franklin D. Roosevelt lived in the White House, and Abel’s little group of hotels looked as if they were going to survive the Depression. America had been good to this immigrant.

Whenever he sat alone with his daughter in the little upstairs nursery he would reflect on his past and dream of her future.

When he had first arrived in the United States, he had found a job in a little butcher’s shop on the lower East Side of New York, where he worked for two long years before filling a vacancy at the Plaza Hotel as a junior waiter. From Abel’s first day, Sammy, the old maitre d’, had treated him as though he were the lowest form of life. After four years, a slave trader would have been impressed by the work and unheard-of overtime that the lowest form of life did in order to reach the exalted position as Sammy’s assistant headwaiter in the Oak Room. During those early years Abel spent five afternoons a week poring over books at Columbia University and, after dinner had been cleared away, read on late into the night.

His rivals wondered when he slept.

Abel was not sure how his newly acquired sheepskin could advance him while he still only waited on tables in the Oak Room. The question was answered for him by a well-fed Texan named Davis Leroy, who had watched Abel serving guests solicitously for a week. Mr. Leroy, the owner of eleven hotels, then offered Abel the position of assistant manager at his flagship, the Richmond Continental in Chicago, with the sole responsibility of running the restaurants.

Abel was brought back to the present when Florentyna turned over and started to thump the side of her crib. He extended a finger, which his daughter grabbed like a lifeline thrown from a sinking ship. She started to bite the finger with what she imagined were teeth...

When Abel first arrived in Chicago he found the Richmond Continental badly run down. It didn’t take him long to discover why. The manager, Desmond Pacey, was milking the books and as far as Abel could tell probably had been for the past thirty years. The new assistant manager spent his first six months gathering together the proof he needed to nail Pacey and then presented his employer with a dossier containing all the facts. When Davis Leroy realized what had been going on behind his back he immediately sacked Pacey, replacing him with his new protégé. This spurred Abel on to work even harder, and he became so convinced that he could turn the fortunes of the Richmond Group around that when Leroy’s aging sister put her 25 percent of the company’s stock up for sale, Abel cashed everything he owned to purchase it. Davis Leroy was touched by his young manager’s personal commitment to the company and proved it by appointing him managing director of the group.

From that moment they became partners, a professional bond that developed into a close friendship. Abel would have been the first to appreciate how hard it was for a Texan to acknowledge a Pole as an equal. For the first time since he had settled in America, he felt secure — until he found out that the Texans were every bit as proud a clan as the Poles.

Abel still couldn’t accept what had happened. If only Davis had confided in him, told him the truth about the extent of the group’s financial trouble — who wasn’t having problems during the Depression? — between them they could have sorted something out. At the age of sixty-two Davis Leroy had been informed by his bank that the value of his hotels no longer covered his loan of two million dollars and that he would have to put up further security before the bank would agree to pay the next month’s expenses. In response to the bank’s ultimatum, Davis Leroy had had a quiet dinner with his daughter and retired to the Presidential Suite on the seventeenth floor with two bottles of bourbon. Then he had opened the window and jumped. Abel would never forget standing on the corner of Michigan Avenue at four in the morning having to identify a body he could recognize only by the jacket his mentor had worn the previous night. The lieutenant investigating the death had remarked that it had been the seventh suicide in Chicago that day. It didn’t help. How could the policeman possibly know how much Davis Leroy had done for him, or how much more Abel Rosnovski had intended to do in return for that friendship in the future? In a hastily composed will Davis had bequeathed the remaining 75 percent of the Richmond Group stock to his managing director, writing to Abel that although the stock was worthless, 100 percent ownership of the group might give him a better chance to negotiate new terms with the bank.

Florentyna’s eyes opened and she started to howl. Abel picked her up lovingly, immediately regretting the decision as he felt the damp, clammy bottom. He changed her diaper quickly, drying the child carefully, before making a triangle of the cloth, not allowing the big pins anywhere near her body: any midwife would have nodded her approval at his deftness. Florentyna closed her eyes and nodded back to sleep on her father’s shoulder. ‘Ungrateful brat,’ he murmured fondly as he kissed her on the cheek.

After Davis Leroy’s funeral Abel had visited Kane and Cabot, the Richmond Group’s bankers in Boston, and pleaded with one of the directors not to put the eleven hotels up for sale on the open market. He tried to convince the bank that if only they would back him, he could — given time — turn the balance sheet from red into black. The smooth, cold man behind the expensive partner’s desk had proved intractable. ‘I have responsibilities to my own clients to consider,’ he had used as an excuse. Abel would never forget the humiliation of having to call a man of his own age ‘sir’ and still leave empty-handed. The man must have had the soul of a cash register not to realize how many people were affected by his decision. Abel promised himself, for the hundredth time, that one day he would get even with Mr. William ‘Ivy League’ Kane.

Abel had traveled back to Chicago thinking that nothing else could go wrong in his life, only to find the Richmond Continental burned to the ground and the police accusing him of arson. Arson it proved to be, but at the hands of Desmond Pacey bent on revenge. When arrested, he readily admitted the crime; his only interest was the downfall of Abel. Pacey would have succeeded if the insurance company had not come to Abel’s rescue. Until that moment, Abel had wondered if he would not have been better off in the Russian prisoner-of-war camp he had escaped from before fleeing to America. But then his luck turned when an anonymous backer, who, Abel concluded, must be David Maxton of the Stevens Hotel, purchased the Richmond Group and offered Abel his old position as managing director and a chance to prove he could run the company at a profit.

Abel recalled how he had been reunited with Zaphia, the self-assured girl he had first met on board the ship that had brought them to America. How immature she had made him feel then, but not when they remet and he discovered she was a waitress at the Stevens.

Two years had passed since then, and although the newly named Baron Group had failed to make a profit in 1933, it lost only $23,000, greatly helped by Chicago’s celebration of its centenary, when over a million tourists had visited the city to enjoy the World’s Fair.

Once Pacey had been convicted of arson, Abel had only to wait for the insurance money to be paid before he could set about rebuilding the hotel in Chicago. He had used the interim period to visit the other ten hotels in the group, sacking staff who showed the same pecuniary tendencies as Desmond Pacey and replacing them from the long lines of unemployed that stretched across America.

Zaphia began to resent Abel’s journeys from Charleston to Mobile, from Houston to Memphis, continually checking over his hotels in the South. But Abel realized that if he was to keep his side of the bargain with the anonymous backer, there would be little time to sit around at home, however much he adored his daughter. He had been given ten years to repay the bank loan; if he succeeded, a clause in the contract stipulated, he would be allowed to purchase all the stock in the company for a further three million dollars. Zaphia thanked God each night for what they already had and pleaded with him to slow down, but nothing was going to stop Abel from trying to fulfill the contract to the letter.

‘Your dinner’s ready,’ shouted Zaphia at the top of her voice.

Abel pretended he hadn’t heard and continued to stare down at his sleeping daughter.

‘Didn’t you hear me? Dinner is ready.’

‘What? No, dear. Sorry. Just coming.’ Abel reluctantly rose to join his wife for dinner. Florentyna’s rejected red eiderdown lay on the floor beside her cot. He picked up the fluffy quilt and placed it carefully on top of the blanket that covered his daughter. He never wanted her to feel the cold. She smiled in her sleep. Was she having her first dream? Abel wondered as he switched out the light.

Chapter two

Florentyna’s christening was something everyone present was to remember — except Florentyna, who slept through the entire proceedings. After the ceremony at the Holy Name Cathedral on North Wabash, the guests made their way to the Stevens Hotel, where Abel had taken a private room. He had invited over a hundred guests to celebrate the occasion. His closest friend, George Novak, a fellow Pole who had occupied the bunk above him on the ship coming over from Europe, was to be one Kum, while one of Zaphia’s cousins, Janina, was to be the other.

The guests devoured a traditional ten-course dinner including pirogi and bigos while Abel sat at the head of the table accepting gifts on behalf of his daughter. There was a silver rattle, U.S. savings bonds, a copy of Huckleberry Finn and, finest of all, a beautiful antique emerald ring from Abel’s unnamed benefactor. He only hoped that the man gained as much pleasure in the giving as his daughter showed in the receiving. To mark the occasion, Abel presented his daughter with a large brown teddy bear with red eyes.

‘It looks like Franklin D. Roosevelt,’ said George, holding the bear up for all to see. ‘This calls for a second christening — FDR.’

Abel raised his glass. ‘Mr. President,’ he toasted — a name the bear never relinquished.

The party finally came to an end about 3 A.M., when Abel had to requisition a laundry cart from the hotel to transport all the gifts home. George waved to Abel as he headed off down Lake Shore Drive, pushing the cart before him.

The happy father began whistling to himself as he recalled every moment of the wonderful evening. Only when Mr. President fell off the cart for a third time did Abel realize how crooked his path must have been down Lake Shore Drive. He picked up the bear and wedged it into the center of the gifts and was about to attempt a straighter path when a hand touched his shoulder. Abel jumped around, ready to defend with his life anyone who wanted to steal Florentyna’s first possessions. He stared up into the face of a young policeman.

‘Maybe you have a simple explanation as to why you’re pushing a Stevens Hotel laundry cart down Lake Shore Drive at three in the morning?’

‘Yes, officer,’ replied Abel.

‘Well, let’s start with what’s in the packages.’

‘Other than Franklin D. Roosevelt, I can’t be certain.’

The policeman immediately arrested Abel on suspicion of larceny. While the recipient of the gifts slept soundly under her red eiderdown quilt in the little nursery at the top of the house on Rigg Street, her father spent a sleepless night on an old horsehair mattress in a cell at the local jail. George appeared at the courthouse early in the morning to verify Abel’s story.

The next day Abel purchased a maroon four-door Buick from Peter Sosnkowski, who ran a secondhand car lot in Logan Square.

Abel began to resent having to leave Chicago and his beloved Florentyna even for a few days, fearing he might miss her first step, her first word or her first anything. From her birth, he had supervised her daily routine, never allowing Polish to be spoken in the house; he was determined there be no trace of a Polish accent that would make her feel ill at ease in society. Abel had intently waited for her first word, hoping it would be ‘Papa,’ while Zaphia feared it might be some Polish word that would reveal that she had not been speaking English to her firstborn when they were alone.

‘My daughter is an American,’ he explained to Zaphia, ‘and she must therefore speak English. Too many Poles continue to converse in their own language, thus ensuring that their children spend their entire lives in the northwest corner of Chicago being described as “Stupid Polacks” and ridiculed by everyone else they come across.’

‘Except their own countrymen who still feel some loyalty to the Polish empire,’ said Zaphia defensively.

‘The Polish empire? What century are you living in, Zaphia?’

‘The twentieth century,’ she said, her voice rising.

‘Along with Dick Tracy and Famous Funnies, no doubt?’

‘Hardly the attitude of someone whose ultimate ambition is to return to Warsaw as the first Polish ambassador.’

‘I’ve told you never to mention that, Zaphia. Never.’

Zaphia, whose English remained irredeemably shaky, didn’t reply but later grumbled to her cousins on the subject and continued to speak only Polish when Abel was out of the house. She was not impressed by the fact, so often trotted out by Abel, that General Motors’ turnover was greater than Poland’s budget.

By 1935, Abel was convinced that America had turned the corner and that the Depression was a thing of the past, so he decided the time had come to build the new Chicago Baron on the site of the old Richmond Continental. He appointed an architect and began spending more time in the Windy City and less on the road, determined that the hotel would turn out to be the finest in the Midwest.

The Chicago Baron was completed in May 1936 and opened by the Democratic mayor, Edward J. Kelly. Both Illinois senators were dancing attendance, only too aware of Abel’s burgeoning power.

‘Looks like a million dollars,’ said Hamilton Lewis, the senior senator.

‘You wouldn’t be far wrong,’ said Abel, as he admired the thickly carpeted public rooms, the high stucco ceilings and the decorations in pastel shades of green. The final touch had been the dark green embossed B that adorned everything from the towels in the bathrooms to the flag that fluttered on the top of the forty-two-story building.

‘This hotel already bears the hallmark of success,’ said Hamilton Lewis, addressing the two thousand assembled guests, ‘because, my friends, it is the man and not the building who will always be known as the Chicago Baron.’ Abel was delighted by the roar that went up and smiled to himself. His public relations advisor had supplied that line to the senator’s speech writer earlier in the week.

Abel felt at ease among big businessmen and senior politicians. Zaphia, however, had not adapted to her husband’s change in fortunes and hovered uncertainly in the background, drinking a little too much champagne, and finally crept away before the dinner was served with the lame excuse about wanting to see that Florentyna was safely asleep. Abel accompanied his flushed wife toward the revolving door in silent irritation. Zaphia neither cared for nor understood success on Abel’s scale and preferred to ignore his new world. She was only too aware how much this annoyed Abel and couldn’t resist saying, ‘Don’t hurry home’ as he bundled her into a cab.

‘I won’t,’ he told the revolving door as he returned, pushing it so hard that it went around three more times after he had left it.

He returned to the hotel foyer to find Alderman Henry Osborne waiting for him.

‘This must be the high point in your life,’ the alderman remarked.

‘High point? I’ve just turned thirty,’ said Abel.

A camera flashed as he placed an arm around the tall, darkly handsome politician. Abel smiled toward the cameraman, enjoying the treatment he was receiving as a celebrity, and said just loud enough for eavesdroppers to hear, ‘I’m going to put Baron hotels right across the globe. I intend to be to America what César Ritz was to Europe. Stick with me, Henry, and you’ll enjoy the ride.’ The city alderman and Abel walked together into the dining room and once they were out of earshot Abel added: ‘Join me for lunch tomorrow, Henry, if you can spare the time. There’s something I need to discuss with you.’

‘Delighted, Abel. A mere city alderman is always available for the Chicago Baron.’

They both laughed heartily, although neither thought the remark particularly funny.

It turned out to be another late night for Abel. When he returned home he went straight to the spare room, to be sure he didn’t wake Zaphia — or that’s what he told her the next morning.

When Abel came into the kitchen to join Zaphia for breakfast Florentyna was sitting in her high chair smearing a bowlful of cereal enthusiastically around her mouth and biting at most things that remained within arms’ reach — even if they weren’t food. When he had finished his waffles, dripping with maple syrup, Abel rose from his chair and told Zaphia that he would be having lunch with Henry Osborne.

‘I don’t like that man,’ said Zaphia, with feeling.

‘I’m not crazy about him myself,’ replied Abel. ‘But never forget he’s well placed in City Hall to be able to do us a lot of favors.’

‘And a lot of harm.’

‘Don’t lose any sleep over that. You can leave the handling of Alderman Osborne to me,’ said Abel as he brushed his wife’s cheek and turned to leave.

‘Presidunk,’ said a voice, and both parents turned to stare at Florentyna, who was gesticulating at the floor where the eight-month-old Franklin D. Roosevelt lay on his furry face.

Abel laughed, picked up the much-loved teddy bear and placed him in the space Florentyna had left for him on the high chair.

‘Pres-i-dent,’ said Abel slowly and firmly.

‘Presidunk,’ insisted Florentyna.

Abel laughed again and patted Franklin D. Roosevelt on the head. So FDR was responsible not only for the New Deal but also for Florentyna’s first political utterance.

Abel left the house, to find his chauffeur waiting for him beside the new Cadillac. Abel’s driving had become worse as the cars he could afford improved. When he bought the Cadillac, George had advised a driver to go with it. That morning he asked the chauffeur to drive slowly as they approached the Gold Coast. Abel stared up at the gleaming glass of the Chicago Baron and marveled that there was no place on earth where a man could achieve so much so quickly. What the Chinese would have been happy to strive for in ten generations, he had achieved in less than fifteen years.

He leaped out of the car before his chauffeur could run around to open the door, walked briskly into the hotel and took the private express elevator to the forty-second floor, where he spent the morning checking over every problem with which the new hotel was faced. One of the passenger elevators wasn’t functioning properly. Two waiters had been involved in a knife fight in the kitchen and had been sacked by George even before Abel had arrived, and the list of damages after the opening looked suspiciously high: Abel would have to check into the possibility that thefts by waiters were being recorded in the books as breakage. He left nothing to chance in any of his hotels, from who was staying in the Presidential Suite to the price of the eight thousand fresh rolls the hotel needed every week. He spent the morning dealing with queries, problems and decisions, stopping only when Alderman Osborne was ushered into Abel’s office by his secretary.

‘Good morning, Baron,’ said Henry, patronizingly referring to the Roznovski family title.

In Abel’s younger days as a junior waiter at the Plaza in New York the title had been scornfully mimicked to his face. At the Richmond Continental when he was assistant manager it had figured in whispered jokes behind his back. Lately everyone mouthed the prefix with respect.

‘Good morning, Alderman,’ said Abel, glancing at the clock on his desk. It was five past one. ‘Shall we have lunch?’

Abel guided Henry into the adjoining private dining room. To a casual observer, Henry Osborne would hardly have seemed a natural soulmate for Abel. Educated at Choate and then Harvard, as he continually reminded Abel, he had later served as a young lieutenant with the Marines in the World War. At six feet, with a full head of black hair lightly sprinkled with gray, he looked younger than his history insisted he had to be.

The two men had first met as a result of the fire at the old Richmond Continental. Henry was then working for the Great Western Casualty Insurance Company, which had, for as long as anyone could remember, insured the Richmond Group. Abel had been taken aback when Henry had suggested that a small cash payment would ensure a swifter flow of the claim papers through the head office. Abel did not possess a ‘small cash payment’ in those days — although the claim eventually found its way through because Henry also believed in Abel’s future.

Abel had learned for the first time about men who could be bought.

By the time Henry Osborne was elected to the Chicago City Council as an alderman, Abel could afford a small cash payment, and the building permit for the new Baron proceeded through City Hall as though on roller skates. When Henry later announced that he would be running for the Ninth District of the House of Representatives in Illinois, Abel was among the first to send a sizable check for his campaign fund. While Abel remained wary of his new ally personally, he recognized that a tame politician could be of great help to the Baron Group. Abel took care to ensure that none of the small cash payments — he did not think of them as bribes, even to himself — was on the record and felt confident that he could terminate their relationship as and when it suited him.

The dining room was decorated in the same delicate shades of green as the rest of the hotel, but there was no sign of the embossed B anywhere in the room. The furniture was nineteenth century, entirely in oak. Around the walls hung oil portraits from the same period, almost all imported. With the door closed, it was possible to imagine that one was in another world far away from the hectic pace of a modern hotel.

Abel took his place at the head of an ornate table that could have comfortably seated eight guests but that day was laid only for two.

‘It’s like being in a bit of old England,’ said Henry, taking in the room.

‘Not to mention Poland,’ replied Abel, as a uniformed waiter served smoked salmon while another poured them both a glass of Bouchard Chablis.

Henry stared down at the full plate in front of him. ‘Now I can see why you’re putting on so much weight, Baron.’

Abel frowned and quickly changed the subject. ‘Are you going to the Cubs’s game tomorrow?’

‘What’s the point? They have a worse home record than the Republicans. Not that my absence will discourage the Tribune from describing the match as a close-fought battle bearing no relation to the score and that if a totally different set of circumstances had taken place, the Cubs would have pulled off a famous victory.’

Abel laughed.

‘One thing’s for sure,’ continued Henry, ‘you’ll never see a night game at Wrigley Field. Playing under floodlights won’t catch on in Chicago.’

‘That’s what you said about beer cans last year.’

It was Henry’s turn to frown. ‘You didn’t ask me to lunch to hear my views on baseball or beer cans, Abel, so what little plan can I assist you with this time?’

‘Simple. I want to ask your advice on what I should do about William Kane.’

Henry seemed to choke. I must speak to the chef: there shouldn’t be any bones in smoked salmon, thought Abel before he continued.

‘You once told me, Henry, in graphic detail what had happened when your path crossed Mr. Kane’s and how he ended up defrauding you of money. Well, Kane did far worse than that to me. During the Depression he put the squeeze on Davis Leroy, my partner and closest friend, and was the direct cause of Leroy’s suicide. To make matters worse, Kane refused to support me when I wanted to take over the management of the hotels and try to put the group on a sound financial footing.’

‘Who did back you in the end?’ asked Henry.

‘A private investor with the Continental Trust. The manager has never told me in so many words, but I’ve always suspected it was David Maxton.’

‘The owner of the Stevens Hotel?’

‘The same.’

‘What makes you think it was him?’

‘When I had the reception for my wedding and again for Florentyna’s christening at the Stevens, the bill was covered by my backer.’

‘That’s hardly conclusive.’

‘Agreed, but I’m certain it’s Maxton, because he once offered me the chance to run the Stevens. I told him I was more interested in finding a backer for the Richmond Group, and within a week his bank in Chicago came up with the money from someone who could not reveal their identity because it would clash with their day-to-day business interests.’

‘That’s a little more convincing. But tell me what you have in mind for William Kane,’ said Henry as he toyed with his wineglass and waited for Abel to continue.

‘Something that shouldn’t take up a lot of your time, Henry, but might well prove to be rewarding for you both financially and, as you hold Kane in the same high regard as I do, personally.’

‘I’m listening,’ said Henry, still not looking up from his glass.

‘I want to lay my hands on a substantial shareholding in Kane’s Boston bank.’

‘You won’t find that easy,’ said Henry. ‘Most of the stock is held in a family trust and cannot be sold without his personal concurrence.’

‘You seem very well informed,’ said Abel.

‘Common knowledge,’ said Henry.

Abel didn’t believe him. ‘Well, let’s start by finding out the name of every shareholder in Kane and Cabot and see if any of them are interested in parting with their stock at a price considerably above par.’

Abel watched Henry’s eyes light up as he began to contemplate how much might be in this transaction for him if he could make a deal with both sides.

‘If he ever found out he’d play very rough,’ said Henry.

‘He’s not going to find out,’ said Abel. ‘And even if he did, we’d be at least two moves ahead of him. Do you think you are capable of doing the job?’

‘I can try. What did you have in mind?’

Abel realized that Henry was trying to find out what payment he might expect, but he hadn’t finished yet. ‘I want a written report the first day of every month showing Kane’s shareholdings in any company, his business commitments and all details you can obtain of his private life. I want everything you come up with, however trivial it may seem.’

‘I repeat, that won’t be easy,’ said Henry.

‘Will a thousand dollars a month make the task easier?’

‘Fifteen hundred certainly would,’ replied Henry.

‘A thousand dollars a month for the first six months. If you prove yourself, I’ll raise the figure to fifteen hundred.’

‘It’s a deal,’ said Henry.

‘Good,’ said Abel as he took his billfold from his inside pocket and extracted a check already made out to cash for one thousand dollars.

Henry studied the check. ‘You were pretty confident I would fall into line, weren’t you?’

‘No, not altogether,’ said Abel as he removed a second check from his billfold and showed it to Henry. It was made out for fifteen hundred dollars. ‘If you come up with some winners in the first six months, you’ll only have lost three thousand overall.’

Both men laughed.

‘Now to a more pleasant subject,’ said Abel. ‘Are we going to win?’

‘The Cubs?’

‘No, the election.’

‘Sure, Landon is in for a whipping. The Kansas Sunflower can’t hope to beat FDR,’ said Henry. ‘As the President reminded us, that particular flower is yellow, has a black heart, is useful as parrot food and always dies before November.’

Abel laughed again. ‘And how about you personally?’

‘No worries. The seat has always been safe for the Democrats. The difficult thing was winning the nomination, not the election.’

‘I look forward to your being a congressman, Henry.’

‘I’m sure you do, Abel. And I look forward to serving you as well as my other constituents.’

Abel looked at him quizzically. ‘Considerably better, I should hope,’ he commented as a sirloin steak that almost covered the plate was placed in front of him while another glass was filled with a Côte de Beaune 1929. The rest of the lunch was spent discussing Gabby Hartnett’s injury problems, Jesse Owens’s four gold medals at the Berlin Olympics and the possibility that Hitler would invade Poland.

‘Never,’ said Henry, and started to reminisce about the courage of the Poles at Mons in the Great War.

Abel didn’t comment on the fact that no Polish regiment had seen action at Mons.

At two thirty-seven, Abel was back at his desk considering the problems of the Presidential Suite and the eight thousand fresh rolls.

He did not arrive home from the Baron that night until nine o’clock, only to find Florentyna already asleep. But she woke immediately as her father entered the nursery and smiled up at him.

‘Presidunk, Presidunk, Presidunk.’

Abel smiled. ‘Not me. You perhaps, but not me.’ He picked up his daughter and kissed her on the cheek and sat with her while she repeated her one-word vocabulary over and over again.

Chapter three

In November 1936, Henry Osborne was elected to the United States House of Representatives for the Ninth District of Illinois. His majority was slightly smaller than his predecessor’s, a fact that could be attributed only to his laziness because Roosevelt had carried every state except Vermont and Maine, and in Congress the Republicans were down to 17 senators and 103 representatives. But all that Abel cared about was that his man had a seat in the House, and he immediately offered him the chairmanship of the Planning Committee of the Baron Group. Henry gratefully accepted.

Abel channeled all his energy into building more and more hotels — with the help of Congressman Osborne, who seemed able to fix building permits wherever the Baron next desired. The cash Henry required for these favors was always paid in used bills. Abel had no idea what Henry did with the money, but it was evident that some of it had to be falling into the right hands, and he had no wish to know the details.

Despite his deteriorating relationship with Zaphia, Abel still wanted a son and began to despair when his wife failed to conceive. He initially blamed Zaphia, who longed for a second child, and eventually she nagged him into seeing a doctor. Finally Abel agreed and was humiliated to learn that he had a low sperm count: the doctor attributed this to early malnutrition and told him that it was most unlikely he would ever father again. From that moment the subject was closed and Abel lavished all his affection and hopes on Florentyna, who grew like a weed. The only thing in Abel’s life that grew faster was the Baron Group. He built a new hotel in the North, and another in the South, while modernizing and streamlining the older hotels already in the Group.

At the age of four, Florentyna attended her first nursery school. She insisted that Abel and Franklin D. Roosevelt accompany her on the opening day. Most of the other girls were chaperoned by women who Abel was surprised to discover were not always their mothers but often nannies and, in one case, as he was gently corrected, a governess. That night he told Zaphia that he wanted someone similarly qualified to take charge of Florentyna.

‘What for?’ asked Zaphia sharply.

‘So that no one in that school starts life with an advantage over our daughter.’

‘I think it’s a stupid waste of money. What would such a person be able to do for her that I can’t?’

Abel didn’t reply, but the next morning he placed advertisements in the Chicago Tribune, The New York Times and the London Times, seeking applicants for the post of governess, stating clearly the terms offered. Hundreds of replies came in from all over the country from highly qualified women who wanted to work for the chairman of the Baron Group. Letters arrived from Radcliffe, Vassar and Smith; there was even one from the Federal Reformatory for Women. But it was the reply from a lady who had obviously never heard of the Chicago Baron that intrigued him most.

Abel found it hard to accept that there was such an institution as Cheltenham Ladies College or indeed such a place as Much Hadham, and he was certainly suspicious of claims of first-class awards without degrees.

He asked his secretary to place a call to Washington. When he was finally put through to the person he wished to speak to, he read the letter aloud.

The voice from Washington confirmed that every claim in the letter could be accurate; there was no reason to doubt its credibility.

‘Are you sure there really is an establishment called Cheltenham Ladies College?’ Abel insisted.

‘Most certainly I am, Mr. Rosnovski — I was educated there myself,’ replied the British ambassador’s secretary.

That night Abel read the letter over again, this time to Zaphia.

‘What do you think?’ he asked, although he had already made up his mind.

‘I don’t like the sound of her,’ said Zaphia, not looking up from the magazine she was reading. ‘If we must have someone, why can’t she be an American?’

‘Think of the advantages Florentyna would have if she were tutored by an English governess,’ Abel paused. ‘She’d even be company for you.’

This time Zaphia did look up from her magazine. ‘Why? Are you hoping she’ll educate me as well?’

Abel didn’t reply.

The following morning he sent a cable to Much Hadham offering Miss Tredgold the position of governess.

Three weeks later when Abel went to pick up the lady from the Twentieth Century Limited at the La Salle Street Station, he knew immediately he had made the right decision. As she stood alone on the platform, three suitcases of differing sizes and vintages by her side, she could not have been anyone but Miss Tredgold. She was tall, thin and slightly imperious, and the bun that crowned her head gave her fully two inches in height over her employer. Zaphia, however, treated Miss Tredgold as an intruder who had come to undermine her maternal position, and when she accompanied her to her daughter’s room, Florentyna was nowhere to be seen. Two eyes peered suspiciously up from under the bed. Miss Tredgold spotted the girl first and fell on her knees.

‘I am afraid I won’t be able to help you very much if you remain there, child. I’m far too big to live under a bed.’

Florentyna burst out laughing and crawled out.

‘What a funny voice you have,’ she said. ‘Where do you come from?’

‘England,’ said Miss Tredgold, taking a seat beside her on the bed.

‘Where’s that?’

‘About a week away.’

‘Yes, but how far?’

‘That would depend on how you traveled during the week. How many ways could I have traveled such a long distance? Can you think of three?’

Florentyna concentrated. ‘From my house I’d take a bicycle and when I’d reached the end of America, I’d take a...’

Neither of them noticed that Zaphia had left the room.

It was only a few days before Florentyna turned Miss Tredgold into the brother and sister she could never have.

Florentyna would spend hours just listening to her new companion, and Abel watched with pride as the middle-aged spinster — he could never think of her as thirty-two, his own age — taught his four-year-old daughter subjects that ranged over areas he would have liked to know more about himself.

Abel asked George one morning if he could name Henry VIII’s six wives — if he couldn’t, it might be wise for them to acquire two more governesses from Cheltenham Ladies College before Florentyna ended up knowing more than they did. Zaphia did not want to know about Henry VIII or his wives, and she still felt that Florentyna should be brought up according to the simple Polish traditions that had been her own education, but she had long since given up trying to convince Abel on that subject. Zaphia carried out a routine that made it possible for her to avoid the new governess most of the day.

Miss Tredgold’s daily routine, on the other hand, owed as much to the discipline of a Grenadier Guard officer as to the teachings of Maria Montessori. Florentyna rose at seven o’clock and with a straight spine that never touched the back of her chair received instruction in table manners and posture until she had left the breakfast room. Between seven-thirty and seven forty-five Miss Tredgold would pick out two or three items from the Chicago Tribune, read and discuss them with her and then question her on them an hour later. Florentyna took an immediate interest in what the President was doing, perhaps because he seemed to be named after her bear. Miss Tredgold found she had to use a considerable amount of her spare time diligently learning the strange American system of government to be certain no question that her ward might ask would go unanswered.

From nine to twelve, Florentyna and FDR attended nursery school, where they indulged in the more normal pursuits of her contemporaries. When Miss Tredgold came to pick her up each afternoon it was easy to discern whether Florentyna had selected the clay, the scissors and paste or the finger painting that day. At the end of every play school session she was taken straight home for a bath and a change of clothes with a ‘Tut, tut’ and an occasional ‘I just don’t know.’

In the afternoon, Miss Tredgold and Florentyna would set off on some expedition the governess had carefully planned that morning without Florentyna’s knowledge — although this didn’t stop Florentyna from always trying to find out beforehand what Miss Tredgold had arranged.

‘What are we going to do today?’ or ‘Where are we going?’ Florentyna would demand.

‘Be patient, child.’

‘Can we still do it if it rains?’

‘Only time will tell. But if we can’t, be assured I shall have a contingency plan.’

‘What’s a ’tingency plan?’ asked Florentyna, puzzled.

‘Something you need when everything else you have planned is no longer possible,’ Miss Tredgold explained.

Among such afternoon expeditions were walks around the park, visits to the zoo, even an occasional ride on the top of a trolley car, which Florentyna considered a great treat. Miss Tredgold also used the time to give her charge the first introduction to a few words of French, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that her ward showed a natural aptitude for languages. Once they had returned home, there would be half an hour with Mama before dinner, followed by another bath before Florentyna was tucked into bed by seven o’clock. Miss Tredgold would read a few lines from the Bible or Mark Twain — not that the Americans seemed to know the difference, Miss Tredgold said in a moment of what she imagined was frivolity — and having turned the nursery light out, she sat with her charge and FDR until they had both fallen asleep.

This routine was slavishly adhered to and broken only on rare occasions such as birthdays or national holidays, when Miss Tredgold allowed Florentyna to accompany her to the United Artists Theater to see films such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs but not before Miss Tredgold had been to the show the previous week in order to ascertain that it was suitable for her ward. Walt Disney met with Miss Tredgold’s approval, as did Laurence Olivier, playing Heathcliff pursued by Merle Oberon, whom she went to watch three Thursdays running on her afternoon off at a cost of twenty cents a showing. She was able to convince herself it was worth sixty cents; after all, Wuthering Heights was a classic.

Miss Tredgold never stopped Florentyna from asking questions about the Nazis, the New Deal and even a home run, although sometimes she obviously didn’t understand the answers. The young girl soon discovered that her mother was not always able to satisfy her curiosity, and on several occasions Miss Tredgold, in order not to render an inaccurate answer, had to disappear into her room and consult the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

At the age of five Florentyna attended kindergarten at the Girls Latin School of Chicago, where within a week she was moved up a grade because she was so far ahead of her contemporaries. In her world everything looked wonderful. She had Mama and Papa, Miss Tredgold and Franklin D. Roosevelt, and as far as her horizon could reach, nothing seemed to be unattainable.

Only the ‘best families,’ as Abel described them, sent their children to the Latin School, and it came as something of a shock to Miss Tredgold that when she asked some of Florentyna’s friends back for tea, the invitations were politely declined. Florentyna’s best friends, Mary Gill and Susie Jacobson, came regularly; but some of the parents of the other girls would make excuses for not accepting, and Miss Tredgold soon came to realize that although the Chicago Baron might well have broken the chains of poverty he was still unable to break into some of the better drawing rooms in Chicago. Zaphia did not help, making little effort to get to know the other parents, let alone join any of their charity committees, hospital boards or the clubs to which so many of them seemed to belong.

Miss Tredgold did the best she could to help, but as she was only a servant in the eyes of most of the parents, it was not easy for her. She prayed that Florentyna would never learn of these prejudices — but it was not to be.

Florentyna sailed through the first grade, more than holding her own academically with the group, and only her size reminded everyone that she was a year younger.

Abel was too busy building up his own empire to give much thought to his social standing or any problems Miss Tredgold might be facing. The Group was showing steady progress, with Abel looking well set by 1938 to be on target to repay the loan to his backer. In fact, Abel was predicting profits of $250,000 for the year, despite his massive building program.

His real worries were not in the nursery or the hotels, but over four thousand miles away in his beloved homeland. His worst fears were realized when on September 1, 1939, Hitler marched into Poland, and Britain declared war on Germany two days later. With the outbreak of another war he seriously considered leaving control of the Baron Group to George — who was turning out to be a trusty lieutenant — while he sailed off to London to join the Polish regiment in exile. George and Zaphia managed to talk him out of the idea, so he concentrated instead on raising cash and sending the money to the British Red Cross, while lobbying Democratic politicians to join the war alongside the British. FDR needs all the friends he can get, Florentyna heard her father declare one morning.

By the last quarter of 1939, Abel, with the help of a small loan from the First National Bank of Chicago, became the 100 percent owner of the Baron Group. He predicted in the annual report that profits for 1940 would be over half a million dollars.

Franklin D. Roosevelt — the one with the red eyes and the fluffy brown fur — rarely left Florentyna’s side even when she progressed to second grade. Miss Tredgold considered that perhaps the time had come to leave FDR at home. In normal circumstances she would have insisted — there might have been a few tears and the matter would have been resolved — but against her better judgment she let the child have her own way. It was a decision that turned out to be one of Miss Tredgold’s rare mistakes.

Every Monday, the Boys Latin School joined the Girls to be tutored in French by the modern language teacher, Mme. Mettinet. For everyone except Florentyna, this was a first, painful introduction to the language. As the class chanted boucher, boulanger and épicier after Madame, Florentyna, more out of boredom than bravado, began holding a conversation with FDR in French. Her next-door neighbor, a tall, rather lazy boy named Edward Winchester, who seemed unable to grasp the difference between le and la, leaned over and told Florentyna to stop showing off. Florentyna reddened. ‘I was only trying to explain to FDR the difference between the masculine and the feminine.’

‘Were you?’ said Edward. ‘Well, I’ll show you le difference, Mademoiselle Know-All,’ and in a fit of fury he grabbed FDR and with all the strength he could muster tore one of the bear’s arms from its body. Florentyna remained rooted to her seat in shock as Edward then took the inkwell out of his desk and poured the contents over the bear’s head.

Mme. Mettinet, who had never approved of having boys in the same class as girls, rushed to the back of the room, but it was too late. FDR was already royal blue from head to toe and sat on the floor in the middle of a circle of stuffing from his severed arm. Florentyna grabbed her favorite friend, tears diluting the puddled ink. Mme. Mettinet marched Edward to the headmaster’s office and instructed the other children to sit in silence until she returned.

Florentyna crawled around the floor, trying hopelessly to put the stuffing back into FDR, when a fair-haired girl Florentyna had never liked leaned over and hissed, ‘Serves you right, stupid Polack.’ The class giggled at the girl’s remark and some of them started to chant, ‘Stupid Polack, stupid Polack, stupid Polack.’ Florentyna clung to FDR and prayed for Mme. Mettinet’s return.

It seemed like hours, although it was only a few minutes, before the French mistress reappeared, with Edward looking suitably crestfallen following in her wake. The chanting stopped the moment Mme. Mettinet entered the room, but Florentyna couldn’t even make herself look up. In the unnatural silence, Edward walked up to Florentyna and apologized in a voice that was as loud as it was unconvincing. He returned to his seat and grinned at his classmates.

When Miss Tredgold picked up her charge from school that afternoon she could hardly miss noticing that the child’s face was red from crying and that she walked with a bowed head, clinging onto blue-faced FDR by his remaining arm. Miss Tredgold coaxed the whole story out of Florentyna before they reached home. She then gave the child her favorite supper of hamburger and ice cream, two dishes of which she normally disapproved, and put her to bed early, hoping she would quickly fall asleep. After a futile hour with nail brush and soap spent trying to clean up the indelibly stained bear, Miss Tredgold was forced to concede defeat. As she laid the damp animal by Florentyna’s side, a small voice from under the bedcovers said, ‘Thank you, Miss Tredgold. FDR needs all the friends he can get.’

When Abel returned a little after 10 P.M. — he had taken to arriving home late almost every night — Miss Tredgold sought a private meeting with him. Abel was surprised by the request and led her at once to his study. During the eighteen months she had been in his employ, Miss Tredgold had always reported the week’s progress to Mr. Rosnovski on Sundays between 10 and 10:30 A.M. when Zaphia accompanied Florentyna to Sunday Mass at Holy Name Cathedral. Miss Tredgold’s reports were always clear and accurate; if anything, she had a tendency to underestimate the child’s achievements.

‘What’s the problem, Miss Tredgold?’ asked Abel, trying to sound unworried. With such a break in routine he dreaded the thought that she might want to give her notice. Miss Tredgold repeated the story of what had taken place at school that day.

Abel became redder and redder in the face as the story progressed and was scarlet before Miss Tredgold came to the end.

‘Intolerable’ was his first word. ‘Florentyna must be removed immediately. I’ll personally see Miss Allen tomorrow and tell her exactly what I think of her and her school. I’m sure you will approve of my decision, Miss Tredgold.’

‘No, sir, I do not,’ came back an unusually sharp reply.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Abel in disbelief.

‘I believe you are as much to blame as the parents of Edward Winchester.’

‘I?’ said Abel. ‘Why?’

‘You should have told your daughter a long time ago the significance of being Polish and how to deal with any problems that might arise because of it. You should have explained the American’s deep-seated prejudice against the Poles, a prejudice that in my own opinion is every bit as reprehensible as the English attitude towards the Irish, and only a few steps away from the Nazi’s barbaric behavior towards the Jews.’

Abel remained silent. It was a long time since anyone had told him he was wrong about anything.

‘Do you have anything else to say?’ he asked when he had recovered.

‘Yes, Mr. Rosnovski. If you remove Florentyna from Girls Latin, I shall give my notice immediately. If on the first occasion the child encounters some problem you choose to run away from it, how can I hope to teach her to cope with life? Watching my own country at war because we wanted to go on believing Hitler was a reasonable man, if slightly misguided, I can hardly be expected to pass on the same misconstruction of events to Florentyna. It will be heartbreaking for me to have to leave her, because I could not love Florentyna more if she were my own child, but I cannot approve of disguising the real world because you have enough money to keep the truth conveniently hidden for a few more years. I must apologize for my frankness, Mr. Rosnovski, as I feel I have gone too far, but I cannot condemn other people’s prejudices while at the same time condoning yours.’

Abel sank back into his seat before replying. ‘Miss Tredgold, you should have been an ambassador, not a governess. Of course you’re right. What would you advise me to do?’

Miss Tredgold, who was still standing — she would never have dreamed of sitting in her employer’s presence unless she was with Florentyna — hesitated.

‘The child should rise thirty minutes earlier each day for the next month and be taught Polish history. She must learn why Poland is a great nation and why the Poles were willing to challenge the might of Germany when alone they could never have hoped for victory. Then she will be able to face those who goad her about her ancestry with knowledge, not ignorance.’

Abel looked her squarely in the eyes. ‘I see now what George Bernard Shaw meant when he said that you have to meet the English governess to discover why Britain is great.’

They both laughed.

‘I’m surprised you don’t want to make more of your life, Miss Tredgold,’ said Abel, suddenly aware that what he had said might have sounded offensive. If it did, Miss Tredgold gave no sign of being offended.

‘My father had six daughters. He had hoped for a boy, but it was not to be.’

‘And what of the other five?’

‘They are all married,’ she replied without bitterness.

‘And you?’

‘He once said to me that I was born to be a teacher and that the Lord’s plan took us all in its compass so perhaps I might teach someone who does have a destiny.’

‘Let us hope so, Miss Tredgold.’ Abel would have called her by her first name, but he did not know what it was. All he knew was that she signed herself ‘W. Tredgold’ in a way that did not invite inquiries. He smiled up at her.

‘Will you join me in a drink, Miss Tredgold?’

‘Thank you, Mr. Rosnovski. A little sherry would be most pleasant.’

Abel poured her a dry sherry and himself a large whiskey.

‘How bad is FDR?’

‘Maimed for life, I fear, which will only make the child love him the more. In the future I have decided FDR must reside at home and will only travel when accompanied by me.’

‘You’re beginning to sound like Eleanor talking about the President.’

Miss Tredgold laughed once more and sipped her sherry. ‘May I offer one more suggestion concerning Florentyna?’

‘Certainly,’ said Abel, who proceeded to listen intently to Miss Tredgold’s recommendation. By the time they had finished their second drink, Abel had nodded his approval.

‘Good,’ said Miss Tredgold. ‘Then, with your permission, I will deal with that at the first possible opportunity.’

‘Certainly,’ repeated Abel. ‘Of course, when it comes to these morning sessions, it may not be practical for me to do a whole month without a break.’ Miss Tredgold was about to speak when Abel added, ‘There may be appointments that I cannot reschedule at such short notice. As I am sure you will understand.’

‘You must, Mr. Rosnovski, do what you think best, and if you find there is something more important than your daughter’s future, I am sure it is she who will understand.’

Abel knew when he was beaten. He canceled all appointments outside Chicago for a full month and rose each morning thirty minutes early. Even Zaphia approved of Miss Tredgold’s idea.

The first day he started by telling Florentyna how he had been born in a forest in Poland and adopted by a trapper’s family and how later he had been befriended by a great Baron who took him into his castle in Slonim, on the Polish-Russian border. ‘He treated me like his own son,’ Abel told her.

As the days went by, Abel revealed to his daughter how his sister Florentyna, after whom she had been named, joined him in the castle and the way he discovered the Baron was his real father.

‘I know, I know how you found out,’ cried Florentyna.

‘How can you know, little one?’

‘He only had one nipple,’ said Florentyna. ‘It must be, it must be. I’ve seen you in the bath. You only have one nipple, so you had to be his son. All the boys at school have two...’ Abel and Miss Tredgold stared at the child in disbelief as she continued, ‘...but if I’m your daughter, why have I got two?’

‘Because it’s only passed from father to son and is almost unknown in daughters.’

‘It’s not fair. I want only one.’

Abel began laughing. ‘Well, perhaps if you have a son, he’ll have only one.’

‘Time for you to braid your hair and get ready for school,’ said Miss Tredgold.

‘But it’s just getting exciting.’

‘Do as you are told, child.’

Florentyna reluctantly left her father and went to the bathroom.

‘What do you think is going to happen tomorrow, Miss Tredgold?’ Florentyna asked on the way to school.

‘I have no idea, child, but as Mr. Asquith once advised, wait and see.’

‘Was Mr. Asquith in the castle with Papa, Miss Tredgold?’

In the days that followed, Abel explained what life was like in a Russian prison camp and what had caused him to limp. He went on to teach his daughter the stories the Baron had told him in the dungeons over twenty years before. Florentyna followed the stories of the legendary Polish hero Tadeusz Kosciuszko, and all the other great figures through to the present day, while Miss Tredgold pointed to a map she had pinned on the bedroom wall.

Abel finally explained to his daughter how he had come into possession of the silver band that he wore on his wrist.

‘What does it say?’ demanded Florentyna, staring at the tiny engraved letters.

‘Try to read the words, little one,’ said Abel.

‘Bar — on Ab — el Ros — nov — ski,’ she stuttered out. ‘But that’s your name,’ she insisted.

‘And it was my father’s.’

After a few more days, Florentyna could answer all her father’s questions, even if Abel couldn’t always answer all of hers.

At school, Florentyna daily expected Edward Winchester to pick on her again, but he seemed to have forgotten the incident, and on one occasion even offered to share an apple with her.

Not everyone in the class, however, had forgotten, and one girl in particular, a fat, rather dull classmate, took special pleasure in whispering the words ‘Stupid Polack’ within her hearing.

Florentyna did not retaliate immediately, but waited until some weeks later when the girl, having come in at the bottom of the class in a history test while Florentyna came in at the top, announced, ‘At least I’m not a Polack.’ Edward Winchester frowned, but some of the class giggled.

Florentyna waited for total silence before she spoke. ‘True. You’re not a Polack; you’re a third-generation American, with a history that goes back about a hundred years. Mine can be traced for a thousand, which is why you are at the bottom in history and I am at the top.’

No one in the class ever referred to the subject again. When Miss Tredgold heard the story on the way home, she smiled to herself.

‘Shall we tell Papa this evening?’

‘No, my dear. Pride has never been a virtue. There are some occasions on which it is wise to remain silent.’

The six-year-old girl nodded thoughtfully before asking: ‘Do you think a Pole could ever be President of the United States?’

‘Certainly, if the American people can overcome their own prejudice.’

‘And how about a Catholic?’

‘That will become irrelevant, even in my lifetime.’

‘And a woman?’ added Florentyna.

‘That might take a little longer, child.’

That night Miss Tredgold reported to Mr. Rosnovski that his lessons had proved worthwhile.

‘And when will you carry out the second part of your plan, Miss Tredgold?’ Abel asked.

‘Tomorrow,’ she replied, smiling.

At three-thirty the following afternoon Miss Tredgold was standing on the corner of the street waiting for her ward to finish school. Florentyna came chattering out through the gates and they had walked for several blocks before she noticed that they were not taking their usual route home.

‘Where are we going, Miss Tredgold?’

‘Patience, child, and all will be revealed.’

Miss Tredgold smiled while Florentyna seemed more concerned with telling her how well she had done in an English test that morning, a monologue she kept up all the way to Menomonee Street, where Miss Tredgold began to take more interest in the numbers on the doors than in Florentyna’s real and imagined achievements.

At last they came to a halt outside a newly painted red door which displayed the number 218. Miss Tredgold rapped on the door twice with her gloved knuckle. Florentyna stood by her side, silent for the first time since leaving school. A few moments passed before the door opened to reveal a man dressed in a gray sweater and blue jeans.

‘I’ve come in response to your advertisement in the Sun,’ Miss Tredgold said before the man had a chance to speak.

‘Ah, yes,’ he replied. ‘Will you come in?’

Miss Tredgold entered the house followed by a puzzled Florentyna. They were conducted through a narrow hall covered in photographs and multicolored rosettes before reaching the back door, which led out onto a yard.

Florentyna saw them immediately. They were in a basket on the far side of the yard and she ran toward them. Six yellow Labrador puppies snuggled up close to their mother. One of them left the warmth of the clan and limped out of the basket toward Florentyna.

‘This one’s lame,’ said Florentyna, immediately picking up the puppy and studying the animal’s leg.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ admitted the breeder. ‘But there are still five others in perfect condition for you to choose from.’

‘What will happen if nobody takes her?’

‘I suppose...’ The breeder hesitated. ‘...She will have to be put to sleep.’

Florentyna stared desperately at Miss Tredgold as she clung to the dog, who was busily licking her face.

‘I want this one,’ said Florentyna without hesitation, fearful of Miss Tredgold’s reaction.

‘How much will that be?’ asked Miss Tredgold as she opened her purse.

‘No charge, ma’am. I’m happy to see that one go to a good home.’

‘Thank you,’ said Florentyna. ‘Thank you.’

The puppy’s tail never stopped wagging all the way to its new home while to Miss Tredgold’s surprise Florentyna’s tongue never wagged once. In fact, she didn’t let go of her new pet until she was safely back inside the family kitchen. Zaphia and Miss Tredgold watched as the young Labrador limped across the kitchen floor toward a bowl of warm milk.

‘She reminds me of Papa,’ said Florentyna.

‘Don’t be impertinent, child,’ said Miss Tredgold.

Zaphia stifled a smile. ‘Well, Florentyna, what are you going to call her?’

‘Eleanor.’

Chapter four

The first time Florentyna ran for President was in 1940 at the age of six. Miss Evans, her teacher in second grade, decided to hold a mock election. The boys from the Latin School were invited to join the contest, and Edward Winchester, whom Florentyna had never quite forgiven for pouring blue ink over her bear, was chosen to run as the surrogate Mr. Wendell L. Willkie. Florentyna naturally ran as FDR.

It was agreed that each candidate would give a five-minute talk to the remaining twenty-seven members of the two classes. Miss Tredgold, without wishing to influence Florentyna, listened to her deliver her oration thirty-one times — or was it thirty-two? — as she remarked to Mr. Rosnovski the Sunday morning before the great election.

Florentyna read the political columns of the Chicago Tribune out loud each day to Miss Tredgold, searching for any scrap of information she could add to her speech. Kate Smith seemed to be singing ‘God Bless America’ everywhere and the Dow Jones Index had passed 150 for the first time: whatever that was, it seemed to favor the incumbent. Florentyna also read about the progress of the war in Europe and the launching of a 36,600-ton U.S. battleship Washington, the first fighting vessel America had built in nineteen years.

‘Why are we building a battleship if the President has promised that the American people will never have to go to war?’

‘I presume it’s in the best interest of our own defense,’ suggested Miss Tredgold, who was furiously knitting socks for the boys back home. ‘Just in case the Germans decide to attack us.’

‘They wouldn’t dare,’ said Florentyna.

The day that Trotsky was slain with a pickaxe in Mexico, Miss Tredgold kept the paper away from her charge, while on another morning she was quite unable to explain what nylons were and why the first 72,000 were sold out in eight hours, the shops limiting the sale to two pairs per customer.

Miss Tredgold, whose legs were habitually clad in beige lisle stockings of a shade optimistically entitled ‘Allure,’ studied the item frowningly. ‘I’m sure I shall never wear nylons,’ she declared, and indeed she never did.

When Election Day came, Florentyna’s head was crammed with facts and figures, some of which she did not understand, but they gave her the confidence to feel she would win. The only problem that still concerned her was that Edward was bigger than she was. Florentyna imagined that this was a definite advantage as she had read that twenty-seven of the thirty-two Presidents of the United States had been taller than their rivals.

The two contestants tossed a newly minted Jefferson nickel to decide the order of speaking. Florentyna won and chose to speak first, a mistake she never made again in her life. She walked to the front of the class, a frail figure, and mindful of Miss Tredgold’s final words of advice — ‘Stand up straight, child. Remember you’re not a question mark’ — she stood bolt upright in the center of the raised wooden platform in front of Miss Evans’s desk and waited to be told she could begin. Her first few sentences came choking out. She explained her policies for ensuring that the nation’s finances remained stable while at the same time promising to keep the United States out of the war. ‘There is no need for one American to die because the nations of Europe cannot stay at peace,’ she declared — a sentence from one of Mr. Roosevelt’s speeches that she had learned by heart. Mary Gill started to applaud, but Florentyna took no notice and went on talking while, at the same time, pushing her dress down nervously with damp hands. Her last few sentences came out in a great rush, and she sat down to a lot of clapping and smiles.

Edward Winchester rose to follow her, and a few of the boys from his class cheered him as he walked up to the blackboard. It was the first time Florentyna realized that some of the votes had been decided even before the speeches began. She only hoped that was true for her side as well. Edward told his classmates that winning at kickball was the same as winning for your country, and in any case Willkie stood for all the things that their parents believed in. Did they want to vote against the wishes of their fathers and mothers? Because if they did support FDR they would lose everything. This line was greeted with a splutter of applause, so he repeated it. At the end of his speech, Edward was also rewarded with claps and smiles, but Florentyna convinced herself they were no louder or wider than hers had been.

After Edward had sat down, Miss Evans congratulated both candidates and asked the twenty-seven voters to take a blank page from their notebooks and write down the name of Edward or Florentyna, according to who they felt should be President. Pens dipped furiously into inkwells, scratched across paper. Voting slips were blotted, folded, and then passed forward to Miss Evans. When the teacher had received the last one, she began to unfold the little rectangles and place them in front of her in separate piles, a process that seemed to take hours. The whole classroom remained silent throughout the count, which in itself was an unusual event. Once Miss Evans had completed the unfolding she counted the twenty-seven sheets of paper slowly and carefully, and then double-checked them.

‘The result of the mock election’ — Florentyna held her breath — ‘for President of the United States is thirteen votes for Edward Winchester’ — Florentyna nearly cheered: she had won — ‘and twelve votes for Florentyna Rosnovski. Two people left their papers blank, which is called abstaining.’ Florentyna couldn’t believe it. ‘I therefore declare Edward Winchester, representing Wendell Willkie, to be the new President.’

It was the only election FDR lost that year, but Florentyna was unable to disguise her disappointment and ran to hide in the girls’ locker room to be sure no one could see her crying. When she came out she found Mary Gill and Susie Jacobson waiting for her.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Florentyna, trying to put a brave face on the result. ‘At least I know both of you supported me.’

‘We couldn’t.’

‘Why couldn’t you?’ asked Florentyna in disbelief.

‘We didn’t want Miss Evans to know that we weren’t sure how to spell your name,’ said Mary.

On the way home, after Miss Tredgold had heard the story seven times, she made so bold as to ask if the child had learned anything from the exercise.

‘Oh, yes,’ replied Florentyna emphatically. ‘I’m going to marry a man with a very simple name.’

Abel laughed when he heard the story that night and repeated it to Henry Osborne over dinner. ‘Better keep your eye on her, Henry, because it won’t be long before she’s after your seat.’

‘I’ve got fifteen years before she can vote, and by then I’ll be ready to hand the constituency over to her.’

‘What are you doing about convincing the International Relations Committee that we ought to be in this war?’

‘FDR will do nothing until the result of the election is known. Everybody is aware of that, including Hitler.’

‘If that’s so, I only pray that Britain won’t lose before we join in because America will have to wait until November to confirm FDR as President.’

During the year Abel broke ground on two more hotels, in Philadelphia and San Francisco, and had begun his first project in Canada, the Montreal Baron. Although his thoughts were rarely far from the success of the Group, something else still remained on his mind.

He wanted to be in Europe, and it wasn’t to build hotels.

At the end of the fall term, Florentyna got her first spanking. In later life she always associated this with snow. Her classmates decided to build a massive snowman, and each member of the class had to bring something with which to decorate him. The snowman ended up with raisin eyes, a carrot nose, potato ears, an old pair of garden gloves, a cigar and a hat supplied by Florentyna. On the last day of the term all the parents were invited to view the snowman, and many of them remarked on its hat. Florentyna beamed with pride until her father and mother arrived. Zaphia burst out laughing, but Abel was not amused at the sight of his fine silk topper on the head of a grinning snowman. Once they had arrived home, Florentyna was taken to her father’s study and given a long lecture on the irresponsibility of taking things that did not belong to her. Abel bent her over his knee and gave her three hard slaps with a hairbrush.

That Saturday night was one she would never forget.

That Sunday morning was one America would always remember.

The Rising Sun appeared over Pearl Harbor on the wings of hostile aircraft and crippled the U.S. battle fleet, virtually wiping out the base and killing 2,403 Americans. The United States declared war on Japan the following day and on Germany three days later.

Abel immediately summoned George to inform him that he was going to join the American forces before they sailed for Europe. George protested, Zaphia pleaded, and Florentyna cried. Miss Tredgold did not venture an opinion.

Abel knew he had to settle one final thing before leaving America. He called for Henry.

‘Did you spot the announcement in The Wall Street Journal, Henry? I nearly missed it myself because of all the news about Pearl Harbor.’

‘You mean the merger of Lester’s with Kane and Cabot, which I predicted in last month’s report? Yes, I already have the full details.’ Henry took a file from his briefcase and passed it to Abel. ‘I guessed that was what you wanted to see me about.’

Abel flipped through the file until he found the relevant article, which Henry had underlined in red. He read the paragraph twice and then started to tap his fingers on the table. ‘The first mistake Kane has made.’

‘I think you may be right,’ said Henry.

‘You’re earning your fifteen hundred dollars a month, Henry.’

‘Perhaps it’s time to make it two thousand.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of Article Seven of the new bank’s rules.’

‘Why do you think he allowed the new clause to be inserted in the first place?’ said Abel.

‘To protect himself. It has obviously never occurred to Mr. Kane that someone might be trying to destroy him, but by exchanging all his shares in Kane and Cabot for the equivalent Lester shares he’s lost control of one bank and not gained control of the new one because Lester’s is so much larger. While he only holds eight percent of the shares in the new venture, he has insisted on that clause to be sure he can stop any transaction for twelve months, including the appointment of a new chairman.’

‘So all we have to do is get hold of eight percent of Lester’s stock and use his own specially inserted clause against him as and when it suits us.’ Abel paused. ‘I don’t imagine that will be easy.’

‘That’s why I’ve asked you for a raise.’

Abel found the task of being accepted to serve in the armed forces considerably more difficult than he had at first imagined. The army was none too polite about his sight, his weight, his heart or his general physical condition. Only after some string pulling did he manage to secure a job as a quartermaster with the Fifth Army under General Mark Clark, who was waiting to sail to Africa. Abel jumped at the one chance to be involved in the war and disappeared to officer candidate school. Miss Tredgold did not realize until he had left Rigg Street how much Florentyna was going to miss her father. She tried to convince the child that the war would not last long, but she did not believe her own words. Miss Tredgold had read too much history.

Abel returned from training school as a major, slimmer and younger-looking, but Florentyna hated seeing her father in uniform, because everyone else she knew in uniform was going away to somewhere beyond Chicago and they never seemed to come back. In April 1942, Abel waved goodbye and left New York on the S.S. Bonnguen. Florentyna, who was still only seven, was convinced goodbye meant forever. Mother assured her daughter that Papa would return home very quickly.

Like Miss Tredgold, Zaphia did not believe that — and this time neither did Florentyna.

When Florentyna progressed to the fourth grade she was appointed secretary of her class, which meant she kept the weekly minutes of class meetings. When she read her report aloud to the rest of the class each week, no one in the fourth grade showed much interest, but in the heat and dust of Algiers, Abel, torn between laughter and tears, read each line of his daughter’s earnest work as if it were the latest bestseller. Florentyna’s most recent fad, much approved of by Miss Tredgold, was the Brownie scouts, which allowed her to wear a uniform like her father. Not only did she enjoy dressing up in the smart brown outfit, but she soon discovered she could cover the sleeves with different-colored badges for such enterprises as varied as helping in the kitchen to collecting used stamps. Florentyna was awarded so many badges, so quickly, that Miss Tredgold was kept hard at it sewing them on and trying to find a new space for each one. Knots, cooking, gymnastics, animal care, handicrafts, stamps, hiking, followed quickly one after the other. ‘It would have been easier if you had been an octopus,’ said Miss Tredgold. But final victory was to be hers when her charge won a badge for needlework and had to sew the little yellow triangle on for herself.

When Florentyna progressed to the fifth grade, where the two schools joined together for most classes, Edward Winchester was appointed president of his class, mainly because of his feats on the soccer field, while Florentyna held the post of secretary despite having better grades than anyone else including Edward. Her only disasters were in geometry, where she came in second, and in the art room. Miss Tredgold always enjoyed re-reading Florentyna’s reports and positively relished the remarks of the art teacher. ‘Perhaps if Florentyna splashed more paint on the paper than on everything that surrounded it, she might hope to become an artist rather than a house painter.’

But the line Miss Tredgold would never forget was written by Florentyna’s homeroom teacher: ‘This pupil mustn’t cry when she is second.’

As the months passed, Florentyna became aware that many of the children in her class had fathers involved in the war. She soon discovered that hers was not the only home that had to face separation. Miss Tredgold enrolled Florentyna in ballet and piano lessons to keep every moment of her spare time occupied. She even allowed her to take Eleanor to the K-9 Corps as a useful pet, but the Labrador was sent home because she limped. Florentyna wished they would do the same to her father. When the summer holidays came, Miss Tredgold, with the approval of Zaphia, extended their horizons to New York and Washington, despite the travel restrictions imposed by the war. Zaphia took advantage of her daughter’s absence to attend fund-raising meetings in aid of Polish soldiers returning from the front.

Florentyna was thrilled by her first trip to New York even though she had to leave Eleanor behind. There were skyscrapers, big department stores, Central Park and more people than she had ever seen before; but despite all the excitement; it was Washington she most wanted to visit. The journey was Florentyna’s first in an airplane, and Miss Tredgold’s as well, and as the plane followed the line of the Potomac River into Washington’s National Airport, Florentyna stared down in awe at the White House, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the as yet unfinished Jefferson building. She wondered if it would be a memorial or a monument and asked Miss Tredgold to explain the difference. Miss Tredgold hesitated and said they would have to look up the two words in Webster’s dictionary when they returned to Chicago, as she wasn’t certain there was a difference. It was the first time that Florentyna realized that Miss Tredgold didn’t know everything.

‘It’s just like in the pictures,’ she said as she stared down out of the tiny airplane window at the Capitol.

‘What did you expect?’ said Miss Tredgold.

Henry Osborne had organized a special visit to the White House and a chance to watch the Senate and House in session. Once she entered the gallery of the Senate Chamber, Florentyna was mesmerized as each senator rose at his desk to speak. Miss Tredgold had to drag her away as one might a boy from a football game, but it didn’t stop her continually asking Henry Osborne more and more questions. He was surprised by the knowledge the nine-year-old girl already possessed even if she was the daughter of the Chicago Baron.

Florentyna and Miss Tredgold spent the night at the Willard Hotel. Her father had not yet built a Baron in Washington, although Congressman Osborne assured them that one was in the pipeline; in fact, he added, the site had already been fixed.

‘What does “fixed” mean, Mr. Osborne?’

Florentyna received no satisfactory reply either from Henry Osborne or from Miss Tredgold, and decided to look that up in Webster’s dictionary as well.

That night Miss Tredgold tucked the child into a large hotel bed and left the room assuming that after such a long day her charge would quickly fall asleep. Florentyna waited for a few minutes before switching the light back on. She then retrieved her guide to the White House from under the pillow. FDR in a black cloak stared up at her. ‘There can be no greater calling than public service’ was printed boldly on the line underneath his name. She read the booklet twice through, but it was the final page that fascinated her most. She started to memorize it and fell asleep a few minutes after one, the light still on.

During the return flight home Florentyna again carefully studied the last page while Miss Tredgold read of the progress of the war in the Washington Times-Herald. Italy had virtually surrendered, although it was clear that the Germans still believed they could win. Florentyna didn’t interrupt Miss Tredgold’s reading once between Washington and Chicago, and the governess wondered, because the child was so quiet, if she was exhausted from the travel. On returning home she allowed Florentyna to go to bed early but not before she had written a thank-you letter to Congressman Osborne. When Miss Tredgold came to put the light out, Florentyna was still studying the guide to the White House.

It was exactly ten-thirty when Miss Tredgold went down to the kitchen to make her nightly cup of cocoa before retiring. On returning she heard what sounded like a chant. She tiptoed slowly to Florentyna’s bedroom door and stood alert, listening to the firmly whispered words: ‘One, Washington; two, Adams; three, Jefferson; four, Madison.’ She went through every President without a mistake. ‘Thirty-one, Hoover; thirty-two, FDR; thirty-three, Unknown; thirty-four, Unknown; thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, Unknown; forty-two...’ There was a moment’s silence, then: ‘One, Washington; two, Adams; three, Jefferson...’ Miss Tredgold tiptoed back to her room and lay awake for some time staring at the ceiling, her untouched cocoa going cold beside her as she recalled her father’s words: ‘You were born to be a teacher and the Lord’s plan takes us all in its compass; perhaps you will teach someone of destiny.’ The President of the United States, Florentyna Rosnovski? No, thought Miss Tredgold, Florentyna was right: she would have to marry someone with a simple name.

Florentyna rose the next morning, bade Miss Tredgold bonjour and disappeared into the bathroom. After feeding Eleanor, who now seemed to eat more than she did, Florentyna read in the Chicago Tribune that FDR and Churchill had conferred on the unconditional surrender of Italy and told her mother joyfully that that meant Papa would be home soon.

Zaphia said she hoped she was right and commented to Miss Tredgold how well she thought Florentyna was looking. ‘And how did you enjoy Washington, my dear?’

‘Very much, Mama. I think I’ll live there one day.’

‘Why, Florentyna, what would you do in Washington?’

Florentyna looked up and met Miss Tredgold’s eyes. She hesitated for a few seconds and then turned back to her mother. ‘I don’t know, I just thought Washington was a nice city. Would you please pass the marmalade, Miss Tredgold?’

Chapter five

Florentyna couldn’t be sure how many of her weekly letters were reaching her father because they had to be mailed to a depot in New York for checking before they were sent on to wherever Major Rosnovski was stationed at the time.

The replies came back spasmodically, and sometimes Florentyna would receive as many as three letters in one week and then no word for three months. If a whole month passed without a letter, she began to believe her father had been killed in action. Miss Tredgold explained that that was not possible since the army always sent a telegram to inform a family if a relative was killed or missing. Each morning, Florentyna would be the first to go downstairs to search through the mail for her father’s handwriting or the dreaded telegram. When she did receive a letter from her father she often found that some of the words were blocked out with black ink. She tried holding them up to the light over the breakfast table but still she couldn’t decipher them. Miss Tredgold told her that this was for her father’s own safety, as he might inadvertently have written something that could be useful to the enemy if the letter fell into the Wrong Hands.

‘Why would the Germans be interested in the fact that I am second in geometry?’ asked Florentyna.

Miss Tredgold ignored the question and asked if she had enough to eat.

‘I’d like another bit of toast.’

‘A piece, child, a piece. A bit is something you put in a horse’s mouth.’

Every six months Miss Tredgold would take her charge, accompanied by Eleanor, to Monroe Street to sit on a high stool with the dog on a box by her side, to smile at a flashbulb so that Major Rosnovski could watch his daughter and the Labrador grow up by photograph.

‘We can’t have him not recognizing his only child when he returns home, can we?’ she declared.

Florentyna would print her age and Eleanor’s age in dog years firmly on the back of each photo and in a letter add the details of her progress at school, how she enjoyed tennis and swimming in the summer and volleyball and basketball in the winter, also how her bookshelves were stacked with his old cigar boxes full of butterflies caught in a wonderful net that Mama had given her for Christmas. She added that Miss Tredgold had carefully chloroformed the butterflies before she pinned them and identified each one with its Latin name. How her mother had joined some charity committee and started taking an interest in the Polish League for Women. How she was growing vegetables in her victory garden, how she and Eleanor didn’t like the meat shortage but that she liked bread-and-butter pudding, while Eleanor preferred crunchy biscuits. She always ended each letter the same way: ‘Please come home tomorrow.’

The war stretched into 1944, and Florentyna followed the progress of the Allies in the Chicago Tribune and by listening to Edward R. Murrow’s reports from London on the radio. Eisenhower became her idol and she nursed a secret admiration for General George Patton because he seemed to be a little bit like her father. On the sixth of June, the invasion of Western Europe was launched. Florentyna imagined that her father was on the beachhead and she was unable to understand how he could possibly hope to survive. She followed the Allies in their drive toward Paris on the map of Europe that Miss Tredgold had pinned to the playroom wall during the days of her lessons in Polish history. She began to believe that the war was at last coming to an end and that her father would soon return home.

She took to sitting hour after hour on the doorstep of their house on Rigg Street with Eleanor by her side, watching the corner of the block. But the hours turned into days, the days into weeks, and Florentyna only became distracted from her vigil by the fact that both Presidential conventions were to be held in Chicago during the summer vacation, which gave her the opportunity to see her political hero in person.

The Republicans chose Thomas E. Dewey as their candidate in June, and later in July the Democrats again selected Roosevelt. Congressman Osborne took Florentyna along to the Amphitheater to hear the President make his acceptance speech to the convention. She was puzzled by the fact that whenever she saw Congressman Osborne, he was accompanied by a different woman. She must ask Miss Tredgold about that; she would be sure to have an explanation. After the candidate’s speech, Florentyna stood in a long line waiting to shake hands with the President, but she was so nervous that she didn’t look up as he was wheeled by.

It was the most exciting day of her life, and on the walk home she confided her interest in politics to Congressman Osborne. He did not point out to her that despite the war there wasn’t a woman sitting in the Senate, and there were only two women in Congress.

In November, Florentyna wrote to her father to tell him something she imagined he hadn’t heard. FDR had won a fourth term. She waited months for his reply.

And then the telegram came.

Miss Tredgold could not extract the missive before the child spotted the small buff envelope. The governess immediately carried the telegram to Mrs. Rosnovski in the drawing room with a trembling Florentyna following in her wake, holding on to her skirt, with Eleanor a pace behind them. Zaphia tore the envelope open with nervous fingers, read the contents, and burst into hysterical tears. ‘No, no,’ Florentyna cried, ‘it can’t be true, Mama. Tell me he’s only missing,’ and snatched the telegram from her speechless mother to read the contents. It read: ‘DEMOB PAPERS ISSUED. HOME SOONEST. LOVE ABEL.’ Florentyna let out a whoop of joy and jumped on the back of Miss Tredgold, who fell into a chair that normally she would never have sat in. Eleanor, as if aware the usual codes could be broken, also jumped on the chair and started licking both of them while Zaphia burst out laughing.

Miss Tredgold could not convince Florentyna that soonest might turn out to take some time since the army conducted a rigid system in deciding who should come home first, awarding points to those who had served the longest or had been wounded in battle. Florentyna remained optimistic, but the weeks passed slowly.

One evening, when she was returning home clutching yet another Brownie badge, this time for lifesaving, she spotted a light shining through a small window that had not been lit for over three years. She forgot her lifesaving achievement immediately, ran all the way down the street, and had nearly beaten the door down before Miss Tredgold came to answer it. She dashed upstairs to her father’s study, where she found him deep in conversation with her mother. She threw her arms around him and would not let go until finally he pushed her back to take a careful look at his ten-year-old daughter.

‘You’re so much more beautiful than your photographs.’

‘And you’re in one piece, Papa.’

‘Yes, and I won’t be going away again.’

‘Not without me, you won’t,’ said Florentyna, and clung on to him once more.

For the next few days, she pestered her father to tell her stories of the war. Had he met General Eisenhower? No. General Patton? Yes, for about ten minutes. General Bradley? Yes. Had he seen any Germans? No, but on one occasion he had helped to rescue wounded soldiers that had been ambushed by the enemy at Remagen.

‘And what happened—?’

‘Enough, enough, young lady. You’re worse than a staff sergeant on drill parade.’

Florentyna was so excited by her father’s homecoming that she was an hour late for bed that night and still didn’t sleep. Miss Tredgold reminded her how lucky she was that her Papa had returned without injury or disfigurement, unlike so many fathers of the children in her class.

When Florentyna heard that Edward Winchester’s father had lost an arm at somewhere called Bastogne, she tried to tell him how sorry she was.

Abel quickly returned to the routine of his work. No one recognized him when he first strode into the Chicago Baron: he had lost so much weight and looked so thin that the duty manager asked him who he was. The first decision Abel had to make was to order five new suits from Brooks Brothers because none of his pre-war clothes fitted him.

George Novak, as far as Abel could deduce from the annual reports he had been through, had kept the Group on an even keel in his absence, even if he had taken no great strides forward. It was also from George that he learned that Henry Osborne had been re-elected to Congress for a fifth term. He asked his secretary to call Washington.

‘Congratulations, Henry. Consider yourself elected to the board.’

‘Thank you, Abel. You’ll be glad to learn,’ said Henry, ‘that I have acquired six percent of Lester’s stock while you’ve been away rustling up gourmet dinners on Primus stoves for our top military brass.’

‘Well done, Henry. What hope is there of getting our hands on the magic eight percent?’

‘A very good chance,’ replied Henry. ‘Peter Parfitt, who expected to be chairman of Lester’s before Kane arrived on the scene, has been removed from the board and has about as much affection for Kane as a mongoose has for a rattlesnake. Parfitt has made it very clear that he is willing to part with his two percent.’

‘Then what’s stopping us?’

‘He’s demanding a million dollars for his holding, because I’m sure he’s worked out that his shares are all you need to topple Kane, and there are not many stockholders left for me to buy from. But a million is way above the ten percent over current stock value that you authorized me to proceed at.’

Abel studied the figures that Henry had left for him on his desk. ‘Offer him seven hundred and fifty thousand’ was all he said.

George was thinking about far smaller sums when he next spoke to Abel. ‘I allowed Henry a loan in your absence, and he still hasn’t paid the money back,’ he admitted.

‘A loan?’

‘Henry’s description, not mine,’ said George.

‘Who’s kidding who? How much?’ said Abel.

‘Five thousand dollars. I’m sorry, Abel.’

‘Forget it. If that’s the only mistake you’ve made in the last three years, I’m a lucky man. What do you imagine Henry spends the money on?’

‘Wine, women and song. There’s nothing particularly original about our congressman. There’s also a rumor around the Chicago bars that he’s started gambling quite heavily.’

‘That’s all I need from the latest member of the board. Keep an eye on him and let me know if the situation gets any worse.’

George nodded.

‘And now I want to talk about expansion. With Washington pumping three hundred million dollars a week into the economy, we must be prepared for a boom the like of which America has never experienced before. We must also start building Barons in Europe while land is cheap and most people are only thinking about survival. Let’s begin with London.’

‘For God’s sake, Abel, the place is as flat as a pancake.’

‘All the better to build on, my dear.’

‘Miss Tredgold,’ said Zaphia, ‘I’m going to a fashion show this afternoon, a benefit for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, and I might not be back before Florentyna’s bedtime.’

‘Very good, Mrs. Rosnovski,’ said Miss Tredgold.

‘I’d like to go,’ said Florentyna.

Both women stared at the child in surprise.

‘But it’s only two days before your exams,’ said Zaphia, anticipating that Miss Tredgold would thoroughly disapprove if Florentyna attended something as frivolous as a fashion show. ‘What are you meant to be doing this afternoon?’

‘Medieval history,’ replied Miss Tredgold without hesitation. ‘Charlemagne through to the Council of Trent.’

Zaphia was sad that her daughter was not being allowed to take an interest in feminine pursuits but rather was expected to act as a surrogate son, filling the gap for her husband’s disappointment at not having a boy.

‘Then perhaps we’d better leave it for another time,’ she said. Zaphia would have insisted her daughter accompany her but realized that if Abel found out, both she and Florentyna would suffer for it later. However, for once Miss Tredgold surprised her.

‘I am not sure I agree with you, Mrs. Rosnovski,’ she said. ‘The occasion might well be the ideal one to introduce the child to the world of fashion and indeed of society.’ Turning to Florentyna, she added, ‘And a break from your studies a few days before exams can do you no harm.’

Zaphia looked at Miss Tredgold with new respect. ‘Perhaps you would like to come yourself?’ she added. It was the first time Zaphia had seen Miss Tredgold blush.

‘No, thank you, no, I couldn’t possibly.’ She hesitated. ‘I have letters, yes, letters to attend to, and I’ve set aside this afternoon to pen them.’

That afternoon, Zaphia was waiting by the main school gate dressed in a pink suit in place of the usual Miss Tredgold in sensible navy. Florentyna thought her mother looked extremely smart.

She wanted to run all the way to the Drake Hotel, where the fashion show was being held, and when she actually arrived she found it hard to remain still even though her seat was in the front row. She could have touched the haughty models as they picked their way gracefully down the brilliantly lit catwalk. As the pleated skirts swirled and dipped, tight-waisted jackets were taken off to reveal elegantly bare shoulders, and sophisticated ladies in floating yards of pale organza topped with silk hats drifted silently to unknown assignations behind a red velvet curtain. Florentyna sat entranced. When the last model had turned a full circle, signaling that the show had ended, a press photographer asked Zaphia if he could take her picture. ‘Mama,’ said Florentyna urgently as he was setting up his tripod, ‘you must wear your hat further forward if you want to be thought chic.’

Mother obeyed child for the first time.

When Miss Tredgold tucked Florentyna into bed that night she asked if she had enjoyed the experience.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Florentyna. ‘I had no idea clothes could make you look so good.’

Miss Tredgold smiled, a little wistfully.

‘And did you realize that they raised over eight thousand dollars for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra? Even Papa would have been impressed by that.’

‘Indeed he would,’ said Miss Tredgold, ‘and one day you will have to decide how to use your wealth for the benefit of other people. It is not always easy being born with money.’

The next day, Miss Tredgold pointed out to Florentyna a picture of her mother in Women’s Wear Daily under the caption, ‘Baroness Rosnovski enters the fashion scene in Chicago.’

‘When can I go to a fashion show again?’ asked Florentyna.

‘Not until you have been through Charlemagne and the Council of Trent,’ said Miss Tredgold.

‘I wonder what Charlemagne wore when he was crowned Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire,’ said Florentyna.

That night, closed into her room, with only the light of a flashlight to go by, she let down the hem of her school skirt and took two inches in at the waist.

Florentyna was now in her last term of Middle School, and Abel hoped she might win the coveted Upper School Scholarship. Florentyna was aware that her father could afford to send her to Upper School if she failed to win a scholarship, but she had plans for the money her father would save each year if she was awarded free tuition. She had studied hard that year, but she had no way of knowing how well she had done when the final examination came to an end, as there were 122 Illinois children who had entered for the examination, but only four scholarships were to be awarded. Florentyna had been warned by Miss Tredgold that she would not learn the result for at least a month. ‘Patience is a virtue,’ Miss Tredgold reminded her, and added with mock horror that she would return to England on the next boat if Florentyna did not come in in the first three places.

‘Don’t be silly, Miss Tredgold, I shall be first,’ Florentyna replied confidently, but as the days of the month went by she began to regret her bragging and confided to Eleanor during a long walk that she might have written cosine when she had meant sine in one of the questions, and created an impossible triangle. ‘Perhaps I shall come in second,’ she ventured over breakfast one morning.

‘Then I shall move to the employ of the parents of the child who comes first,’ said Miss Tredgold imperturbably.

Abel smiled as he looked up from his copy of the morning paper. ‘If you win a scholarship,’ he said, ‘you will have saved me a thousand dollars a year. If you come out on top, two thousand dollars.’

‘Yes, Papa, and I have plans for that.’

‘Oh, do you, young lady. And may I inquire what you have in mind?’

‘If I win a scholarship, I want you to invest the money in Baron Group stock until I’m twenty-one, and if I’m first I want you to do the same for Miss Tredgold.’

‘Good gracious, no,’ said Miss Tredgold, stretching to her full height, ‘that would be most improper. I do apologize, Mr. Rosnovski, for Florentyna’s impudence.’

‘It’s not impudence, Papa. If I finish top, half the credit must go to Miss Tredgold.’

‘If not more,’ said Abel, ‘and I’ll agree to your demands. But on one condition.’ He folded his paper carefully.

‘What’s that?’ said Florentyna.

‘How much do you have in your savings account, young lady?’

‘Three hundred and twelve dollars,’ came the immediate reply.

‘Very well, if you fail to finish in the first four you must sacrifice the three hundred and twelve dollars to help me pay the tuition you haven’t saved.’

Florentyna hesitated. Abel waited and Miss Tredgold did not comment.

‘I agree,’ said Florentyna at last.

‘I have never bet in my life,’ said Miss Tredgold, ‘and I can only hope my dear father does not live to learn of this.’

‘It should not concern you, Miss Tredgold.’

‘It certainly does, Mr. Rosnovski. If the child is willing to gamble her only three hundred and twelve dollars on the strength of what I have managed to do for her, then I must repay in kind and also offer three hundred and twelve dollars towards her education if she fails to win a scholarship.’

‘Bravo,’ said Florentyna, and threw her arms around her governess.

‘ “A fool and his money are soon parted,” ’ declared Miss Tredgold.

‘Agreed,’ said Abel, ‘for I have lost.’

‘What do you mean, Papa?’ asked Florentyna. Abel turned over the newspaper to reveal a small headline that read: ‘The Chicago Baron’s Daughter Wins Top Scholarship.’

‘Mr. Rosnovski, you knew all the time.’

‘True, Miss Tredgold, but it is you who have turned out to be the better poker player.’

Florentyna was overjoyed and spent the last few days of her life at Middle School as the class heroine. Even Edward Winchester congratulated her.

‘Let’s go and have a drink to celebrate,’ he suggested.

‘What?’ said Florentyna. ‘I’ve never had a drink before.’

‘No time like the present,’ said Edward, and led her to a small classroom in the boys’ end of the school. Once they were inside, he locked the door. ‘Don’t want to get caught,’ he explained. Florentyna stood in admiring disbelief as Edward lifted the lid of his desk and took out a bottle of beer, which he pried open with a nickel. He poured the flat brown liquid into two dirty glasses, also extracted from the desk, and passed one over to Florentyna.

‘Bottoms up,’ said Edward.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Florentyna.

‘Just drink the stuff,’ he said, but Florentyna watched him take a gulp before she plucked up the courage to try a sip. Edward rummaged around in his jacket pocket and took out a crumpled package of Lucky Strikes. Florentyna couldn’t believe her eyes. The nearest she had been to a cigarette was the advertisement she had heard on the radio which said: ‘Lucky Strike means fine tobacco. Yes, Lucky Strike means fine tobacco,’ a theme that had driven Miss Tredgold mad. Without speaking, Edward removed one of the cigarettes from the packet, placed it between his lips, lit it and started puffing away. He blew some smoke jauntily into the middle of the room. Florentyna was mesmerized as he extracted a second cigarette and placed it between her lips. She did not dare to move as he struck another match and held the flame to the end of the cigarette. She stood quite still for fear it would catch her hair on fire.

‘Inhale, you silly girl,’ he said, so she puffed three or four times very quickly and then started coughing.

‘You can take the thing out of your mouth, you know,’ he said.

‘Of course I know,’ she said quickly, removing the cigarette the way she remembered Jean Harlow did in Saratoga.

‘Good,’ said Edward, and drank a large draft of his beer.

‘Good,’ said Florentyna, then swallowed a mouthful of her beer. For the next few minutes, she kept in time with Edward as he puffed his cigarette and gulped from his glass.

‘Great, isn’t it?’ said Edward.

‘Great,’ replied Florentyna.

‘Like another?’

‘No, thank you.’ Florentyna coughed. ‘But it was great.’

‘I’ve been smoking and drinking for several weeks,’ announced Edward.

‘Yes, I can tell,’ said Florentyna.

A bell sounded in the hall, and Edward quickly put the beer, cigarettes and the two butts in his desk before unlocking the door. Florentyna walked slowly back to her classroom. She felt dizzy and sick when she reached her desk and worse when she reached home an hour later, unaware that the smell of Lucky Strikes was still on her breath. Miss Tredgold did not comment and put her to bed immediately.

The next morning Florentyna woke in terrible discomfort, scabious eruptions on her chest and face. She looked at herself in the mirror and burst into tears.

‘Chicken pox,’ declared Miss Tredgold to Zaphia. Chicken pox, the doctor confirmed later, and Miss Tredgold brought Abel to visit Florentyna in her room after the doctor had completed his examination.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ asked Florentyna anxiously.

‘I can’t imagine,’ said her father mendaciously. ‘Looks like one of the plagues of Egypt to me. What do you think, Miss Tredgold?’

‘I have only seen the like of it once before, and that was with a man in my father’s parish who smoked, but of course that doesn’t apply in this case.’

Abel kissed his daughter on the cheek, and the two grownups left.

‘Did we pull it off?’ asked Abel when they had reached his study.

‘I cannot be certain, Mr. Rosnovski, but I would be willing to wager one dollar that Florentyna never smokes again.’

Abel took out his wallet from an inside pocket, removed a dollar bill and then replaced it.

‘No, I think not, Miss Tredgold. I am too aware what happens when I bet with you.’

Florentyna once heard her headmistress remark that some incidents in history are so powerful in their impact that most people can tell you exactly where they were when they first heard the news.

On April 12, 1945, at 4:47 P.M., Abel was talking to a man representing a product called Pepsi-Cola who was pressing him to try out the drink in the Baron hotels. Zaphia was shopping in Marshall Field’s and Miss Tredgold had just come out of the United Artists Theater, where she had seen Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca for the third time. Florentyna was in her room looking up the word ‘teen-ager’ in Webster’s dictionary. The word was not yet acknowledged by Webster’s when Franklin D. Roosevelt died in Warm Springs, Georgia.

Of all the tributes to the late President which Florentyna read during the next few days, the one she kept for the rest of her life was from the New York Post. It read simply:

Chapter Six

Entering Upper School at Girls Latin prompted Florentyna’s second trip to New York because the only establishment that stocked the official school uniform was Marshall Field’s in Chicago, and the shoes, Abercrombie & Fitch in New York. Abel snorted and declared it was inverted snobbery of the worst kind. Nevertheless, since he had to travel to New York to check on the newly opened Baron, he agreed as a special treat to accompany Miss Tredgold and his eleven-year-old daughter on their journey to Madison Avenue.

Abel had long considered New York to be the only major city in the world not to boast a first-class hotel. He admired the Plaza, the Pierre and the Carlyle but did not think that any of the three held a candle to Claridge’s in London, the George V in Paris or the Danieli in Venice, and only those achieved the standards he was trying to reproduce for the New York Baron.

Florentyna was aware that Papa was spending more and more time in New York, and it saddened her that the affection between her father and mother now seemed to be a thing of the past. The rows were becoming so frequent that she wondered if she was in any way to blame.

Once Miss Tredgold had completed everything on the list that could be purchased at Marshall Field’s — three blue sweaters (navy), three blue skirts (navy), four shirts (white), six blue bloomers (dark), six pairs of gray socks (light), one navy-blue silk dress with white collar and cuffs — she planned the trip to New York.

Florentyna and Miss Tredgold took the train to Grand Central Station and on arrival in New York went straight to Abercrombie & Fitch, where they selected two pairs of brown Oxfords.

‘Such sensible shoes,’ proclaimed Miss Tredgold. ‘Nobody who wears Abercrombies needs fear going through life with flat feet.’ They then proceeded over to Fifth Avenue, and it was some minutes before Miss Tredgold realized she was on her own. Turning around, she observed Florentyna’s nose pressed against a pane at Elizabeth Arden’s. She walked quickly back to join her. ‘Ten shades of lipstick for the sophisticated woman,’ read the sign in the window.

‘Rose red is my favorite,’ said Florentyna hopefully.

‘The school rules are very clear,’ said Miss Tredgold authoritatively. ‘No lipstick, no nail polish, and no jewelry except one ring and a watch.’

Florentyna reluctantly left the rose-red lipstick and joined her governess on her march up Fifth Avenue toward the Plaza Hotel, where her father was expecting them at the Palm Court for tea. Abel could not resist returning to the hotel where he had served his apprenticeship as a junior waiter, and although he recognized no one except old Sammy, the headwaiter in the Oak Room, everyone knew exactly who he was.

After macaroons and ice cream for Florentyna, a cup of coffee for Abel, and lemon tea and a watercress sandwich for Miss Tredgold, Abel returned to work. Miss Tredgold checked her New York itinerary and took Florentyna to the top of the Empire State Building. As the elevator reached the one hundred and second floor Florentyna felt quite giddy, and they both burst out laughing when they discovered fog had come in from the East River and they couldn’t even see as far as the Chrysler Building. Miss Tredgold checked her list again and decided that their time would be better spent visiting the Metropolitan Museum. Francis Henry Taylor, the director, had just acquired a large canvas by Pablo Picasso; the oil painting turned out to be a woman with two heads and one breast coming out of her shoulder.

‘What do you think of that?’ asked Florentyna.

‘Not a lot,’ said Miss Tredgold. ‘I rather suspect that when he was at school he received the same sort of art reports as you do now.’

Florentyna always enjoyed staying in one of her father’s hotels when she was on a trip. She would happily spend hours walking around trying to pick up mistakes the hotel was making. After all, she pointed out to Miss Tredgold, they had their investment to consider. Over dinner that night in the Grill Room of the New York Baron, Florentyna told her father that she didn’t think much of the hotel shops.

‘What’s wrong with them?’ asked Abel, mouthing questions without paying much attention to the answers.

‘Nothing you can point to easily,’ said Florentyna, ‘except that they are all dreadfully dull compared with real shops like the ones on Fifth Avenue.’

Abel scribbled a note on the back of his menu, ‘Shops dreadfully dull,’ and doodled around it carefully before he said, ‘I’ll not be returning to Chicago with you, Florentyna.’

For once Florentyna was silent.

‘Some problems have come up here with the hotel and I have to stay behind to see they don’t get out of hand,’ he said, the line sounding a little too well rehearsed.

Florentyna gripped her father’s hand. ‘Try and come back tomorrow. Eleanor and I always miss you.’

Once Florentyna had returned to Chicago Miss Tredgold set about preparing her for Upper School. Each day they would spend two hours studying a different subject, but Florentyna was allowed to choose whether they should work in the mornings or the afternoons. The only exception to the rule was on Thursdays, when their sessions took place in the morning as it was Miss Tredgold’s afternoon off.

At two o’clock promptly every Thursday she would leave the house and not return until seven that night. She never explained where she was going, and Florentyna never summoned up the courage to ask. But as the holiday progressed Florentyna became more and more curious about where Miss Tredgold spent her time, until finally she resolved to discover for herself.

After a Thursday morning of Latin and a light lunch together in the kitchen, Miss Tredgold said goodbye to Florentyna and retired to her room. As two o’clock struck she opened the front door of the house and headed off down the street carrying a large canvas bag. Florentyna watched her carefully through her bedroom window. Once Miss Tredgold had turned the corner of Rigg Street, Florentyna dashed out and ran all the way down to the Inner Drive. She peered around to see her mentor waiting at a bus stop on Michigan Avenue. She could feel her heart beating at the thought of not being able to follow Miss Tredgold any farther. Within minutes she watched a bus draw up and come to a halt. She was about to turn back for home when she noticed Miss Tredgold disappear up the circular staircase of the double-decker. Without hesitation, Florentyna ran and jumped onto the moving platform, then quickly made her way to the front of the bus.

When the ticket collector asked her where she was going, Florentyna suddenly realized she had no idea of her destination.

‘How far do you go?’ she asked.

The collector looked at her suspiciously. ‘The Loop,’ he replied.

‘One single for The Loop, then,’ Florentyna said confidently.

‘That’ll be fifteen cents,’ said the conductor.

Florentyna fumbled in her jacket pocket to discover she had only ten cents.

‘How far can I go for ten cents?’

‘Rylands School’ came back the reply.

Florentyna passed over the money, praying that Miss Tredgold would reach her destination before she would have to get off, while not giving any thought to how she would make the return journey.

She sat low in her seat and watched carefully each time the bus came to a halt along the lake front, but even after she had counted twelve stops and passed the University of Chicago, Miss Tredgold still did not appear.

‘Your stop is next,’ the conductor said a few minutes later.

When the bus next came to a halt, Florentyna knew she was beaten. She stepped down reluctantly onto the sidewalk thinking about the long walk home and determined that the following week she would have enough money to cover the journey both ways.

She stood unhappily watching the bus as it traveled a few hundred yards farther down the street before coming to a stop once more. A figure stepped out into the road which could only have been Miss Tredgold. She disappeared down a side street, looking as if she knew exactly where she was going.

Florentyna ran as hard as she could, but when she reached the corner, breathless, there was no sign of Miss Tredgold. Florentyna walked slowly down the street wondering where her governess could have gone. Perhaps into one of the houses, or might she have taken another side street? Florentyna decided she would walk to the end of the block and if she failed to spot her quarry then, she would have to make her way home.

Just at the point when she was considering turning back she came into an opening that faced a large white archway on which ‘South Shore Country Club’ was embossed in gold.

Florentyna didn’t think for a minute that Miss Tredgold could be inside, but out of curiosity she peered through the gates.

‘What do you want?’ said a uniformed guard standing on the other side.

‘I was looking for my governess,’ said Florentyna.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Miss Tredgold,’ Florentyna said unflinchingly.

‘She’s already gone into the clubhouse,’ said the guard, pointing toward a Victorian building surrounded by trees about a quarter of a mile up a steep rise.

Florentyna marched boldly through, without another word, staying on the path because ‘Keep off the grass’ signs were displayed every few yards. She kept her eye on the clubhouse and had ample time to leap behind a tree when she saw Miss Tredgold emerge. She hardly recognized the lady dressed in red-and-yellow-checked tweed trousers, a heavy Fair Isle sweater and heavy brown brogues. A bag of golf clubs was slung comfortably over one shoulder.

Florentyna stared at her governess, mesmerized.

Miss Tredgold walked toward the first tee, where she put down her bag and took out a ball. She placed it on a tee at her feet and selected a club from her bag. After a few practice swings she steadied herself, addressed the ball and hit it firmly down the middle of the fairway. Florentyna couldn’t believe her eyes. She wanted to applaud but instead ran forward to hide behind another tree as Miss Tredgold marched off down the fairway.

Miss Tredgold’s second shot landed only twenty yards from the edge of the green. Florentyna ran forward to a clump of trees at the side of the fairway and watched Miss Tredgold chip her ball up onto the green and hole it out with two putts. Florentyna was left in no doubt that Miss Tredgold had been playing the game for some considerable time.

Miss Tredgold then removed a small white card from her pocket and wrote on it, before heading toward the second tee. As she did so she gazed toward the second green, which was to the left of where Florentyna was hidden. Once again Miss Tredgold steadied herself, addressed the ball and swung, but this time she sliced her shot and the ball ended up only fifteen yards from Florentyna’s hiding place.

Florentyna looked up at the trees, but they had not been made for climbing other than by a cat. She held her breath and crouched behind the widest trunk, but could not resist watching Miss Tredgold as she studied the lie of her ball. Miss Tredgold muttered something inaudible and then selected a club. Florentyna let out her breath as Miss Tredgold swung. The ball climbed high and straight before landing in the middle of the fairway again.

Florentyna watched Miss Tredgold replace her club in the bag.

‘I should have kept a straighter arm on the first shot and then we would never have met.’

Florentyna assumed Miss Tredgold was admonishing herself yet again and remained behind the tree.

‘Come here, child.’ Florentyna obediently ran out but said nothing.

Miss Tredgold took another ball from the side pocket of her bag and placed it on the ground in front of her. She selected a club and handed it to her charge.

‘Try to hit the ball in that direction,’ she said pointing toward a flag about a hundred yards away.

Florentyna held the club awkwardly before taking several swings at the ball, on each occasion digging up what Miss Tredgold called a ‘divot.’ At last she managed to push it twenty yards toward the fairway. She beamed with pleasure.

‘I see we are in for a long afternoon,’ declared Miss Tredgold resignedly.

‘I am sorry,’ said Florentyna. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’

‘For following me, yes. But for the state of your golf, no. We shall have to start with the basics, as it seems in the future I am no longer to have Thursday afternoons to myself, now you have discovered my father’s only sin.’

Miss Tredgold taught Florentyna how to play golf with the same energy and application as if it were Latin or Greek. By the end of the summer holiday Florentyna’s favorite afternoon was Thursday.

Upper School was very different from Middle School. There was a new teacher for every subject rather than one teacher for everything but gym and art. The pupils moved from room to room for their classes, and for many of the activities the girls joined forces with the boys’ school. Florentyna’s favorite subjects were current affairs, Latin, French and English, although she couldn’t wait for her twice-weekly biology classes, because they gave her the chance to use a microscope and admire the school’s collection of bugs.

‘Insects, dear child. You must refer to the little creatures as insects,’ Miss Tredgold insisted.

‘Actually, Miss Tredgold, they’re nematodes.’

Florentyna continued to take an interest in clothes and noticed that the mode for short dresses caused by the enforced economies of war was fast becoming outdated and that once again skirts were returning toward the ground. She was unable to do much about experimenting with fashion, as the school uniform was the same year in and year out; the children’s department of Marshall Field’s, it seemed, was not influenced by Vogue. However, she studied all the relevant magazines in the library and pestered her mother to take her to more shows. For Miss Tredgold, on the other hand, who had never allowed any man to see her knees, even in the self-denying days of Lend-Lease, the new fashion only proved she had been right all along.

At the end of Florentyna’s first year in Upper School the modern-languages mistress decided to put on a performance of Shaw’s Saint Joan in French. As Florentyna was the one pupil who could think in the language, she was chosen to play the Maid of Orleans, and she rehearsed for hours in the old nursery, with Miss Tredgold playing every other part as well as being prompter and cue reader. Even when Florentyna was word-perfect, Miss Tredgold sat loyally through the daily one-woman shows.

‘Only the Pope and I give audiences for one,’ she told Florentyna as the phone rang.

‘It’s for you,’ said Miss Tredgold.

Florentyna always enjoyed receiving phone calls, although it was not a practice that Miss Tredgold encouraged.

‘Hello, it’s Edward. I need your help.’

‘Why? Don’t tell me you’ve opened a schoolbook...’

‘No hope of that, silly. But I’ve been given the part of the Dauphin and I can’t pronounce all the words.’

Florentyna tried not to laugh. ‘Come around at five-thirty and you can join the daily rehearsals. Although I must warn you, Miss Tredgold has been making a very good Dauphin up to now.’

Edward came around every night at five-thirty and although Miss Tredgold occasionally frowned when ‘the boy’ lapsed back into an American accent, he was ‘just about ready’ by the day of the dress rehearsal.

When the night of the performance itself came, Miss Tredgold instructed Florentyna and Edward that under no circumstances must they look out into the audience hoping to spot their parents; otherwise those watching the performance would not believe the character they were portraying. Most unprofessional, Miss Tredgold considered, and reminded Florentyna that Mr. Noël Coward had once left a performance of Romeo and Juliet because Mr. John Gielgud looked straight at him during a soliloquy. Florentyna was convinced, although in truth she had no idea who John Gielgud and Noël Coward were.

When the curtain went up, Florentyna did not once look beyond the footlights. Miss Tredgold considered her efforts ‘most commendable’ and during the intermission particularly commented to Florentyna’s mother on the scene in which the Maid is alone in the center of the stage and talks to her voices. ‘Moving,’ was Miss Tredgold’s description. ‘Unquestionably moving.’ When the last curtain finally fell, Florentyna received an ovation, even from those who had not been able to follow every word in French. Edward stood a pace behind her, relieved to have come through the ordeal without too many mistakes. Glowing with excitement, Florentyna removed her makeup, her first experience of lipstick and powder, changed back into her school uniform and joined her mother and Miss Tredgold with the other parents who were having coffee in the dining hall. Several people came over to congratulate her on her performance including the headmaster of the Boys Latin School.

‘A remarkable achievement for a girl of her age,’ he told Mrs. Rosnovski. ‘Though when you think about it, she is only a couple of years younger than Saint Joan was when she challenged the entire might of the French establishment.’

‘Saint Joan didn’t have to learn someone else’s lines in a foreign language,’ said Zaphia, feeling pleased with herself.

Florentyna did not take in her mother’s words; her eyes were searching the crowded hall for her father.

‘Where’s Papa?’ she asked.

‘He couldn’t make it tonight.’

‘But he promised,’ said Florentyna. ‘He promised.’ Tears welled up in her eyes as she suddenly realized why Miss Tredgold had told her not to look beyond the footlights.

‘You must remember, child, that your father is a very busy man. He has a small empire to run.’

‘So did Saint Joan,’ said Florentyna.

When Florentyna went to bed that night, Miss Tredgold came to turn out her light.

‘Papa doesn’t love Mama any more, does he?’

The bluntness of the question took Miss Tredgold by surprise and it was a few moments before she recovered.

‘Of only one thing I am certain, child, and that is that they both love you.’

‘Then why has Papa stopped coming home?’

‘That I cannot explain, but whatever his reasons, we must be very understanding and grown-up,’ said Miss Tredgold, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen over Florentyna’s forehead.

Florentyna felt very un-grown-up and wondered if Saint Joan had been so unhappy when she lost her beloved France. When Miss Tredgold closed the door quietly, Florentyna put her hand under the bed to feel the reassuring wet nose of Eleanor. ‘At least I’ll always have you,’ she whispered. Eleanor clambered from her hiding place onto the bed and settled down next to Florentyna, facing the door: a quick retreat to her basket in the kitchen might prove necessary if Miss Tredgold reappeared.

Florentyna did not see her father during the summer vacation and had long stopped believing the stories that the growing hotel empire was keeping him away from Chicago. When she mentioned him to her mother, Zaphia’s replies were often bitter. Florentyna also found out from overheard telephone conversations that she was consulting lawyers.

Each day, Florentyna would take Eleanor for a walk down Michigan Avenue in the hope that she might see her father’s car drive by. One Wednesday, she decided to make a break in her routine and walk on the west side of the avenue to study the stores that set the fashions for the Windy City. Eleanor was delighted to be reunited with the magnificent gas lamps that had recently been placed for her at twenty-yard intervals. Florentyna had already purchased a wedding dress and a ball gown with her five-dollars-a-week pocket money and was coveting an elegant five-hundred-dollar evening dress in the window of Martha Weathered on the corner of Oak Street when she saw her father’s reflection in the glass. She turned, overjoyed, to see him coming out of the Bank of Chicago on the opposite side of the street. Without a thought she dashed out into the road, not looking either way as she called her father’s name. A yellow cab jammed on its brakes and swerved violently, the driver aware of a flash of blue skirt, then a heavy thud as the cab made contact with the body. The rest of the traffic came to a screeching halt as the cab driver saw a stout, well-dressed man, followed by a policeman, run out into the middle of the street. A moment later Abel and the taxi driver stood numbly staring down at the lifeless body. ‘She’s dead,’ said the policeman, shaking his head as he took his notebook from his top pocket.

Abel fell on his knees, trembling. He looked up at the policeman. ‘And the worst thing about it is I am to blame.’

‘No, Papa, it was my fault,’ wept Florentyna. ‘I should never have rushed out into the street. I killed Eleanor by not thinking.’

The driver of the cab that had hit the Labrador explained that he had had no choice; he had to hit the dog to avoid colliding with the girl.

Abel nodded, picked up his daughter and carried her to the curb, not letting her look back at Eleanor’s mangled body. He put Florentyna into the back of his car and returned to the policeman.

‘My name is Abel Rosnov—’

‘I know who you are, sir.’

‘Can I leave everything to you, Officer?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the policeman, not looking up from his notebook.

Abel returned to his chauffeur and told him to drive them to the Baron. Abel held his daughter’s hand as they walked through the crowded hotel corridor to the private elevator that whisked them to the forty-second floor. George met them when the gates sprung open. He was about to greet his goddaughter with a Polish quip when he saw the look on her face.

‘Ask Miss Tredgold to come over immediately, George.’

‘Of course,’ said George, and disappeared into his own office.

Abel sat and listened to several stories about Eleanor without interrupting before tea and sandwiches arrived, but Florentyna managed only a sip of milk. Then, without any prelude, she changed the subject.

‘Why don’t you ever come home, Papa?’ she asked.

Abel poured himself another cup of tea, a little spilling into the saucer. ‘I’ve wanted to come home many times and I hated missing Saint Joan, but your mother and I are going to be divorced.’

‘Oh, no, it can’t be true. Papa—’

‘It’s my fault, little one. I have not been a good husband and—’

Florentyna threw her arms around her father. ‘Does that mean I will never see you again?’

‘No. I have made an agreement with your mother that you shall remain in Chicago while you are at school, but you will spend the holidays with me in New York. Of course you can always talk to me on the telephone whenever you want to.’

Florentyna remained silent as Abel gently stroked her hair.

Some time passed before there was a gentle knock on the door and Miss Tredgold entered, her long dress swishing as she came quickly to Florentyna’s side.

‘Can you take her home please, Miss Tredgold?’

‘Of course, Mr. Rosnovski.’ Florentyna was still tearful. ‘Come with me, child,’ she said and bent down and whispered, ‘try not to show your feelings.’

The twelve-year-old girl kissed her father on the forehead, took Miss Tredgold’s hand and left.

When the door closed, Abel, not having been brought up by Miss Tredgold, sat alone and wept.

Chapter seven

It was at the beginning of her second year in Upper School that Florentyna first became aware of Pete Welling. He was sitting in a corner of the music room, playing the latest hit, ‘Almost Like Being in Love,’ on the piano. He was slightly out of tune, but Florentyna assumed it must be the piano. Pete didn’t seem to notice her as she passed him, so she turned around and walked back again, but to no avail. He put a hand nonchalantly through his fair, wavy hair and continued playing the piano, so she marched off pretending she hadn’t seen him. By lunchtime the next day she knew that he was one grade above her, where he lived, that he was cocaptain of the football team, president of his class and nearly seventeen. Her friend Susie Jacobson warned her that others had trod the same path without a great deal of success.

‘But I assure you,’ replied Florentyna, ‘I have something to offer that will prove irresistible.’

That afternoon she sat down and composed what she imagined to be her first love letter. After much deliberation she chose purple ink and wrote in a bold, slanting hand:

Florentyna waited for the break before she crept down the corridor, imagining every eye to be on her as she searched for Pete Welling’s hall locker. When she found it, she checked his name against the number on the top of the locker. Forty-two — she felt that was a good omen, and opened his locker door, left her letter on top of a math book, where he couldn’t miss it, and returned to her classroom, palms sweating. She checked her own locker, on the hour every hour, expecting his reply, but none was forthcoming. After a week passed, she began to despair until she saw Pete sitting on the steps of the chapel combing his hair. How daring to break two school rules at once, she thought. Florentyna decided this was her chance to find out if he had ever received her invitation.

She walked boldly toward him, but with only a yard to go she wished he would disappear in a cloud of dust because she couldn’t think of anything to say. She stood still like a lamb in the stare of a python, but he saved her by saying, ‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ she managed. ‘Did you ever find my letter?’

‘Your letter?’

‘Yes, I wrote to you last Monday about coming over to play some records at my place. I’ve got “Silent Night,” and most of Bing Crosby’s latest hits. Have you heard him singing “White Christmas”?’ she asked, playing her trump card.

‘Oh, it was you who wrote that letter,’ he said.

‘Yes, I saw you play against Parker last week. You were fantastic. Who are you playing next?’

‘It’s in the school calendar,’ he said, putting his comb into an inside pocket and looking over her shoulder.

‘I’ll be in the stands.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ he said as a tall blonde from the senior class wearing little white socks that Florentyna felt sure were not official school uniform ran over to Pete and asked if he had been waiting long.

‘No, only a couple of minutes,’ said Pete, and put his arm around her waist before turning back to Florentyna. ‘I’m afraid you’ll just have to get in line,’ he said, laughing, ‘but perhaps your time will come. Anyway, I think Crosby’s square. I’m into Bix Beiderbecke.’

As they walked away, Florentyna could hear him telling the blonde, ‘That was the girl who sent me the note.’ The blonde looked back over her shoulder and started laughing. ‘She’s probably still a virgin,’ Pete added.

Florentyna went to the girls’ locker room and hid until everyone else had gone home, dreading that they would all laugh at her once the story had gone the rounds. She didn’t sleep that night, and the next morning she studied the other girls’ faces but couldn’t see any signs of sniggers or stares and decided to confide in Susie Jacobson to discover if the story had gotten around. When Florentyna had finished her story, Susie burst out laughing.

‘Not you as well,’ Susie said.

Florentyna felt a lot better after Susie told her how far down the line she actually was. It gave her the courage to ask Susie if she knew what a virgin was.

‘I’m not certain,’ said Susie. ‘Why?’

‘Because Pete said I probably was one.’

‘Then I think I must be one as well. I once overheard Mary Alice Beckman saying it was when a boy made love to you and nine months later you had a baby. Like Miss Horton told us about elephants, but they take two years.’

‘I wonder what it feels like.’

‘According to all the magazines Mary Alice keeps in her locker, it’s dreamy.’

‘Do you know anyone who’s tried?’

‘Margie McCormick claims she has.’

‘She would claim anything, and if she has, why hasn’t she had a baby?’

‘She said she took “precautions,” whatever they are.’

‘If it’s anything like having a period, I can’t believe it’s worth all the trouble,’ said Florentyna.

‘Agreed,’ said Susie. ‘I got mine yesterday. Do you think men have the same problem?’

‘Not a chance,’ said Florentyna. ‘They always end up with the best of every deal. Obviously we get the periods and the babies and they get shaving and the draft, but I shall have to ask Miss Tredgold about that.’

‘I’m not sure she’ll know,’ said Susie.

‘Miss Tredgold,’ said Florentyna with confidence, ‘knows everything.’

That evening when Miss Tredgold was approached by a puzzled Florentyna, she did not hesitate to sit the child down and explain the birth process to her in the fullest detail, warning her of the consequences of a rash desire to experiment. Florentyna sat and listened to Miss Tredgold in silence. When she had finished, Florentyna asked, ‘Then why is so much fuss made about the whole thing?’

‘Modern society and loose morals make a lot of demands on girls, but always remember that each of us makes our own decision as to what others think of us and, more importantly, what we think of ourselves.’

‘She did know all about becoming pregnant and having babies,’ Florentyna said to Susie the next day with great authority.

‘Does that mean you’re going to remain a virgin?’ asked Susie.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Florentyna. ‘Miss Tredgold is still one.’

‘But what about “precautions”?’ demanded Susie.

‘You don’t need them if you remain a virgin,’ Florentyna said, passing on her newfound knowledge.

The only other event of importance that year for Florentyna was her confirmation. Although Father O’Reilly, a young priest from the Holy Name Cathedral, officially instructed her, Miss Tredgold, resolutely suppressing the Church of England tenets of her youth, studied the Roman Catholic ‘Orders in Confirmation’ and took Florentyna painstakingly through her preparation, leaving her in no doubt of the obligations that her promises to our dear Lord brought upon her. The Roman Catholic Archbishop of Chicago, assisted by Father O’Reilly, administered the confirmation, and both Abel and Zaphia attended the service. Their divorce having been completed, they sat in separate pews.

Florentyna wore a simple white dress with a high neck, the hem falling a few inches below the knee. She had made the dress herself, with — when she was asleep — a little help from Miss Tredgold. The original design had come from a photograph in Paris-Match of a dress worn by Princess Elizabeth. Miss Tredgold had brushed Florentyna’s long dark hair for over an hour until it shone. She even allowed it to fall to her shoulders. Although she was only thirteen, the young confirmand looked stunning.

‘My Kum is beautiful,’ said George as he stood next to Abel in the front pew of the church.

‘I know,’ said Abel.

‘No, I’m serious,’ said George. ‘Very soon there is going to be a line of men banging on the Baron’s castle door demanding the hand of his only daughter.’

‘As long as she’s happy, I don’t mind who she marries.’

After the service was over, the family had a celebration dinner in Abel’s private rooms at the Baron. Florentyna received gifts from her family and friends, including a beautiful leather-bound version of the King James Bible from Miss Tredgold, but the present she treasured most was the one her father had kept safely until he felt she was old enough to appreciate it, the antique ring that had been given to Florentyna on her christening by the man who had put his faith in Papa and backed the Baron Group.

‘I must write and thank him,’ said Florentyna.

‘You can’t, my dear, as I am not certain who he is. I honored my part of the bargain long ago, so now I will probably never discover his true identity.’

She slipped the antique ring onto the third finger of her right hand and throughout the rest of the day her eyes returned again and again to the sparkling little emeralds.

Chapter Eight

‘How will you be voting in the Presidential election, madam?’ asked the smartly dressed young man.

‘I shall not be voting,’ said Miss Tredgold, continuing down the street.

‘Shall I put you down as “Don’t know”?’ said the man, jogging to keep up with her.

‘Most certainly not,’ said Miss Tredgold. ‘I made no such suggestion.’

‘Am I to understand you don’t wish to state your preference?’

‘I am quite happy to state my preference, young man, but as I come from Much Hadham in England, it is unlikely to influence either Mr. Truman or Mr. Dewey.’

The man conducting the Gallup Poll retreated, but Florentyna watched him carefully because she had read somewhere that the results of such polls were now being taken seriously by all leading politicians.

Nineteen forty-eight, and America was in the middle of another election campaign. Unlike the Olympics, the race for the White House was re-run every four years, war or peace. Florentyna remained loyal to the Democrats but did not see how President Truman could possibly hold on to the White House after three such unpopular years as President. The Republican candidate, Thomas E. Dewey, had a lead of over 8 percent in the latest Gallup Poll and looked certain of victory.

Florentyna followed both campaigns closely and was delighted when Margaret Chase Smith beat three men to be chosen as the Republican senatorial candidate for Maine. For the first time, the American people were able to follow the election on television. Abel had installed an RCA at Rigg Street only months before he departed, but during term time Miss Tredgold would not allow Florentyna to watch ‘that newfangled machine’ for more than one hour a day. ‘It can never be a substitute for the written word,’ she declared. ‘I agree with Professor Chester L. Dawes of Harvard,’ she added. ‘Too many instant decisions will be made in front of the cameras that will later be regretted.’

Although she did not fully agree with Miss Tredgold’s sentiments at the time, Florentyna selected her hour carefully, particularly on Sundays, always choosing the CBS evening news, during which Douglas Edwards would give the campaign roundup, over Ed Sullivan’s more popular ‘Toast of the Town.’ However, she still found time to listen to Ed Murrow on the radio. After all his broadcasts from London during the war, she, like so many other millions of Americans, remained loyal to his kind of newscasting. She felt it was the least she could do.

During the summer vacation Florentyna parked herself in Congressman Osborne’s campaign headquarters and, along with scores of other volunteers of assorted ages and ability, filled envelopes with ‘A Message from Your Congressman’ and a bumper sticker that said in bold print ‘Re-elect Osborne.’ She and a pale, angular youth who never proffered any opinions would then lick the flap of each envelope and place it on a pile according to district, for hand delivery by another helper. By the end of each day her mouth and lips were covered in gum and she would return home feeling thirsty and sick.

One Thursday the receptionist in charge of the telephone inquiries asked if Florentyna could take over her spot while she took a break for lunch.

‘Of course,’ said Florentyna with tremendous excitement, and jumped into the vacated seat before the pale youth could volunteer.

‘There shouldn’t be any problems,’ the receptionist said. ‘Just say “Congressman Osborne’s office,” and if you’re not sure of anything, look it up in the campaign handbook. Everything you need to know is in there,’ she added, pointing to the thick booklet by the side of the phone.

‘I’ll be just fine,’ said Florentyna.

She sat in the exalted chair, staring at the phone, willing it to ring. She didn’t have to wait long. The first caller was a man who wanted to know where he voted. That’s a strange question, thought Florentyna.

‘At the polls,’ she said, a little pertly.

‘Sure, I know that, you stupid bitch,’ came back the reply. ‘But where is my polling place?’

Florentyna was speechless for a moment, and then asked, very politely, where he lived.

‘In the seventh precinct.’

Florentyna flicked through her guide. ‘You should vote at Saint Chrysostom’s Church, on Dearborn Street.’

‘Where’s that?’

Florentyna studied the map. ‘The church is located five blocks from the lake shore and fifteen blocks north of the Loop.’ The phone clicked and immediately rang again.

‘Is that Osborne’s headquarters?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Florentyna.

‘Well, you can tell that lazy bastard I wouldn’t vote for him if he was the only candidate alive.’ The phone clicked again and Florentyna felt queasier than she had been when she was licking envelopes. She let the bell ring three times before she could summon up the courage to lift the receiver to answer.

‘Hello,’ she said nervously. ‘This is Congressman Osborne’s headquarters. Miss Rosnovski speaking.’

‘Hello, my dear, my name is Daisy Bishop, and I will need a car to take my husband to the polls on Election Day because he lost both of his legs in the war.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Florentyna.

‘Don’t worry yourself, young lady. We wouldn’t let wonderful Mr. Roosevelt down.’

‘But Mr. Roosevelt is... Yes, of course you wouldn’t. Can I please take down your telephone number and address?’

‘Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, KL5-4816’ came the reply.

‘We will phone you on election morning to let you know what time the car will pick you up. Thank you for supporting the Democratic ticket, Mrs. Bishop,’ said Florentyna.

‘We always do, my dear. Goodbye and good luck.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Florentyna, who took a deep breath and felt a little better. She wrote a ‘2’ in brackets after the Bishops’ name and placed the note in the file marked ‘Transportation for Election Day.’ Then she waited for the next call.

It was some minutes before the phone sounded again and by then Florentyna had fully regained her confidence.

‘Good morning, is this the Osborne office?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Florentyna.

‘My name is Melvin Crudick and I want to know Congressman Osborne’s views on the Marshall Plan.’

‘The what plan?’ said Florentyna.

‘The Marshall Plan,’ the voice enunciated.

Florentyna frantically flipped the pages of the campaign handbook that she had been promised would reveal everything.

‘Are you still there?’ barked the voice.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Florentyna. ‘I just wanted to be sure you were given a full and detailed answer on the congressman’s views. If you would be kind enough to wait one moment.’

At last Florentyna found the Marshall Plan and read through Henry Osborne’s words on the subject.

‘Hello, sir.’

‘Yes,’ said the voice, and Florentyna started to read Henry’s views out loud.

‘ “Congressman Osborne approves of the Marshall Plan.” ’ There was a long silence.

‘Yes, I know he does,’ said the voice from the other end.

Florentyna felt weak. ‘Yes, he does support the plan,’ she repeated.

‘Why does he?’ said the voice.

‘Because it will benefit everyone in his district,’ said Florentyna firmly, feeling rather pleased with herself.

‘Pray tell me, how can giving six billion American dollars to Europe help the Ninth District of Illinois?’ Florentyna could feel the perspiration on her forehead. ‘Miss, you may inform your congressman that because of your personal incompetence I shall be voting Republican on this occasion.’

Florentyna put the phone down and was considering running out of the door when the regular receptionist arrived back from her lunch. Florentyna did not know what to tell her.

‘Anything interesting?’ the girl asked as she resumed her place. ‘Or was it the usual mixture of weirdos, perverts and cranks who have got nothing better to do with their lunch break?’

‘Nothing special,’ said Florentyna nervously, ‘except I think I’ve lost the vote of a Mr. Crudick.’

‘Not Mad Mel again? What was it this time, the House Un-American Activities Committee, the Marshall Plan or the slums of Chicago?’

Florentyna happily returned to licking envelopes.

On Election Day, Florentyna arrived at campaign headquarters at eight o’clock in the morning and spent the day telephoning registered Democrats to be sure they had voted. ‘Never forget,’ said Henry Osborne in his final pep talk to his voluntary helpers, ‘no man has ever lived in the White House who hasn’t carried Illinois.’

Florentyna felt very proud to think she was helping to elect a President and didn’t take a break all day. At eight o’clock that evening, Miss Tredgold came to collect her. She had worked twelve hours without letting up, but never once did she stop talking all the way home.

‘Do you think Mr. Truman will win?’ she asked finally.

‘Only if he gets more than fifty percent of the votes cast,’ said Miss Tredgold.

‘Wrong,’ said Florentyna. ‘It is possible to win a Presidential election in the United States by winning more Electoral College votes than your opponent while failing to secure a majority of the plebiscite.’ She then proceeded to give Miss Tredgold a brief lesson on how the American political system worked.

‘Such a thing would never have happened if only dear George III had known where America was,’ said Miss Tredgold. ‘And I become daily aware that it will not be long before you have no further need of me, child.’

It was the first time Florentyna had ever considered that Miss Tredgold would not spend the rest of her life with her.

When they reached home, Florentyna sat in her father’s old chair to watch the early returns, but she was so tired that she dozed off in front of the fire. She, like most of America, went to sleep believing that Thomas Dewey had won the election. When Florentyna woke the next morning, she dashed downstairs to fetch the Tribune. Her fears were confirmed: ‘Dewey Defeats Truman’ ran the headline, and it took half an hour of radio bulletins and confirmation by her mother before Florentyna believed that Truman had been returned to the White House. An 11 P.M. decision had been made by the night editor of the Tribune to run a headline that he would not live down for the rest of his life. At least he had been right in stating that Henry Osborne was returned to Congress for a sixth term.

When Florentyna went back to Girls Latin the next day, her homeroom teacher called for her and made it quite clear that the election was now over and that the time had come to settle down and do some serious studying. Miss Tredgold agreed, and Florentyna worked with the same enthusiasm for her school exams as she had for President Truman.

During the year, she made the junior varsity hockey team, on which she played right wing without distinction, and even managed to squeeze onto the third-string tennis team on one occasion. When the summer term was drawing to a close, all the pupils received a note reminding them that if they wished to run for the Student Council their names must be sent to the headmaster of Boys Latin by the first Monday of the new school year. There were six representatives on the Council elected from both schools, and no one could remember a year when they had not all come from the twelfth grade. Nevertheless, many of Florentyna’s classmates suggested that she allow her name to be put forward. Edward Winchester, who had years before given up trying to beat Florentyna at anything except arm wrestling, volunteered to help her.

‘But anyone who helps me would have to be talented, good-looking, popular and charismatic,’ she teased.

‘For once, I agree with you,’ said Edward. ‘Any fool taking up such a cause will need every advantage possible to overcome the problems that come with a candidate who is stupid, ugly, unapproachable and dull.’

‘In which case it might be wise for me to wait another year.’

‘Never,’ said Edward. ‘I can see no hope of improvement in such a short time. In any case, I want you on the Council this year.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you’re the only eleventh-grade student elected, you’ll be a near certain for president next year.’

‘Really thought the whole thing through, haven’t you, Edward?’

‘And I would be willing to bet everything in my piggy bank that you have, too.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Florentyna.

‘Perhaps?’

‘Perhaps I’ll consider running for Student Council a year early.’

During the summer vacation, which Florentyna spent with her father at the New York Baron, she noticed that many of the big department stores now had millinery departments and wondered why there were not more shops specializing only in clothes. She spent hours at Best’s, Saks and Bonwit Teller — at the last of which she bought herself a strapless evening dress — observing the different customers and comparing their individual preferences with those of shoppers who frequented Bloomingdale’s, Altman’s and Macy’s. In the evening over dinner she would regale her father with the knowledge she had acquired that day. Abel was so impressed by the speed with which Florentyna assimilated new facts that he began to explain to her in some detail how the Baron Group worked. By the end of her vacation, he was delighted with how much she had picked up about stock control, cash flow, advance reservations, the Employment Act of 1940, and even the cost of eight thousand fresh rolls. He warned George that his job as managing director of the Group might be in jeopardy in the not-too-distant future.

‘I don’t think it’s my job she’s after, Abel.’

‘No?’ said Abel.

‘No,’ said George. ‘It’s yours.’

Abel took Florentyna to the airport on the final day of her vacation and presented her with a black-and-white Polaroid camera.

‘Papa, what a fantastic present. Won’t I be the neatest thing at school?’

‘It’s a bribe,’ said Abel.

‘A bribe?’

‘Yes. George tells me you want to be Chairman of the Baron Group.’

‘I think I’ll start with president of the Student Council,’ said Florentyna.

Abel laughed. ‘Make sure you win a place on the Council first,’ he said, then kissed his daughter on the cheek and waved goodbye as she disappeared up the steps to the waiting plane. As Abel traveled back in the car, he thought of his own ambitions for Warsaw and then recalled the understanding he had had with his daughter.

‘I’ve decided to run.’

‘Good,’ said Edward. ‘I’ve already compiled a list of every student in both schools. You must put a check mark by all those who you feel are certain to support you and a cross by those who won’t, so that I can work on the don’t-knows and reinforce the backing of your supporters.’

‘Very professional. How many people are running?’

‘So far fifteen candidates for six places. There are four candidates you can’t hope to beat, but it will be a close contest after that. I thought you’d be interested to know that Pete Welling is running.’

‘That creep,’ said Florentyna.

‘Oh, I was led to believe that you were hopelessly in love with him.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Edward, he’s a sap. Let’s go through the school lists.’

The election was due to take place at the end of the second week of the new school year, so the candidates had only ten days to gather votes. Many of Florentyna’s friends dropped in at Rigg Street to assure her of their support. Florentyna was surprised to find some support where she least expected it, while other classmates who she had imagined were friends told Edward they would never back her. Florentyna discussed this problem with Miss Tredgold, who warned her that if you ever run for any office that might bring you privilege or profit, it will always be your contemporaries who do not want to see you succeed in your ambitions. You need have no fear of those who are older or younger than yourself; they know you will never be their rival.

All the candidates had to write a mini-election address setting out the reasons they wanted to be on the Student Council. Florentyna’s was checked over by Abel, who refused to add or subtract anything, and by Miss Tredgold, who only commented on the grammar.

Voting was all day Friday at the end of the second week and the result was always announced by the headmaster after assembly the following Monday morning. It was a terrible weekend for Florentyna, and Miss Tredgold spent the entire time saying, ‘Settle down, child.’ Even Edward, who played tennis with her on Sunday afternoon, hardly raised a sweat, winning 6–0, 6–0.

‘It wouldn’t take Jack Kramer to tell you that you’re not concentrating — “child.” ’

‘Oh, do be quiet, Edward. I don’t care whether I’m elected to the Student Council or not.’

Florentyna woke up at five o’clock on Monday morning and was dressed and ready for breakfast by six. She read the paper through three times and Miss Tredgold did not utter a word to her until it was time to leave for school.

‘Remember, my dear, that Lincoln lost more elections than he won but still became President.’

‘Yes, but I’d like to start out with a win,’ said Florentyna.

The assembly hall was packed by nine o’clock. Morning prayers and the headmaster’s announcements seemed to take forever; Florentyna’s eyes stared down at the floor.

‘And now I shall read the results of the Student Council election,’ said the headmaster. ‘There were fifteen candidates and six have been elected to the Council.

The headmaster coughed and the room remained silent. ‘Sixth, Florentyna Rosnovski with seventy-six votes. The runner-up was Pete Welling with seventy-five votes. The first Council meeting will be in my office at ten-thirty this morning. Assembly dismissed.’

Florentyna was overwhelmed and threw her arms around Edward.

At the first Council meeting that morning, Florentyna, as junior member, was appointed secretary.

‘That will teach you to come in last,’ laughed the new president, Jason Morton.

Back to writing notes that nobody else reads, thought Florentyna. But at least this time I can type them and perhaps next year I will be president. She looked up at the boy whose thin, sensitive face and seemingly shy manner had won him so many votes.

‘Now, privileges,’ said Jason briskly, unaware of her gaze. ‘The president is allowed to drive a car to school, while on one day a week the girls can wear pastel-colored shirts and the boys can wear loafers instead of oxfords. Council members are allowed to sign out of study hall when involved in school responsibilities and they can award demerits to any pupil who breaks a school rule.’

So that’s what I fought so hard for, thought Florentyna, the chance to wear a pastel-colored shirt and award demerits.

When she returned home that night, Florentyna told Miss Tredgold every detail of what had happened and she glowed with pride as she repeated the full result along with her new responsibilities.

‘Who is poor Pete Welling,’ inquired Miss Tredgold, ‘who failed to be elected by only one vote?’

‘Serves him right,’ said Florentyna. ‘Do you know what I said to that creep when I passed him in the corridor?’

‘No, I’m sure I don’t,’ said Miss Tredgold apprehensively.

‘ “Now you’ll have to get in line, but your time will come,” ’ she said, and burst out laughing.

‘That was unworthy of you, Florentyna, and indeed of me. Be sure you never in your life express such an opinion again. The hour of triumph is not a time to belittle your rivals. Rather, it is a time to be magnanimous.’

Miss Tredgold rose from her seat and retired to her room.

When Florentyna went to lunch the next day, Jason Morton took the seat next to her. ‘We’re going to see a lot of each other now that you’re on the Council,’ he said, and smiled. Florentyna didn’t smile back, because Jason had the same reputation among the pupils of Girls Latin as Pete Welling and she was determined not to make a fool of herself a second time.

Over lunch, they discussed the problem of the school orchestra’s trip to Boston and what to do about the number of boys who had been caught smoking. Student councillors were limited in the punishments they were allowed to impose, and study hall detention on Saturday morning was about the most extreme terror they could evoke. Jason told Florentyna that if they went so far as to report the smokers to the headmaster, it would undoubtedly mean expulsion for the students involved. A dilemma had arisen among the councillors because no one feared the Saturday detention, and equally, no one believed anyone ever would be reported to the headmaster.

‘If we allow the smoking to go on,’ said Jason, ‘very soon we’ll have no authority at all unless we’re determined to make a positive stand in full Council right from the beginning.’

Florentyna agreed with him and was surprised by his next question.

‘Would you be up for a game of tennis on Saturday afternoon?’

Florentyna remained silent for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to sound casual as she remembered that he was captain of the tennis team and her backhand was awful.

‘Good, I’ll pick you up at three o’clock. Will that be okay?’

‘Fine,’ said Florentyna, hoping she still sounded offhand.

‘That tennis dress is far too short,’ said Miss Tredgold.

‘I know,’ said Florentyna, ‘but it’s last year’s, and I’ve grown since then.’

‘With whom are you playing?’

‘Jason Morton.’

‘You really cannot play tennis in a dress like that with a young man.’

‘It’s either this or the nude,’ said Florentyna.

‘Don’t be cheeky with me, child. I shall allow you to wear the garment on this occasion, but be assured I shall have acquired a new dress for you by Monday afternoon.’

The front doorbell rang. ‘He seems to have arrived,’ said Miss Tredgold.

Florentyna picked up her racket and ran toward the door.

‘Don’t run, child. Let the young man wait a little. We can’t have him knowing how you feel about him, can we?’

Florentyna blushed, tied back her long dark hair with a ribbon and walked slowly to the front door.

‘Hi, Jason,’ she said, her voice casual again. ‘Won’t you come in?’

Jason, who was dressed in a smart tennis outfit that looked as if it had been bought that morning, couldn’t take his eyes off Florentyna. ‘What a dress,’ he ventured, and was about to say more when he saw Miss Tredgold leaving the room. He hadn’t realized until that moment what a good figure Florentyna had. The moment he set eyes on Miss Tredgold he knew why he had never been allowed to find out.

‘It’s last year’s, I’m afraid,’ said Florentyna, looking down at her slim legs. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’

‘No, I think it’s swell. Come on, I’ve reserved a court for three-thirty and someone else will grab it if we’re a minute late.’

‘Good heavens,’ said Florentyna as she closed the front door. ‘Is that yours?’

‘Yes. Don’t you think it’s fantastic?’

‘I would say, if asked to venture an opinion, that it had seen better days.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Jason. ‘I thought it was rather snazzy.’

‘If I knew what the word meant I might be able to agree with you. Pray, sir,’ she said mockingly, ‘am I expected to ride in that machine or help push it?’

‘That is a genuine pre-war Packard.’

‘Then it deserves an early burial,’ said Florentyna as she took her seat in the front, suddenly realizing how much of her legs were showing.

‘Has anyone taught you how to propel this lump of metal in a forward direction?’ she inquired sweetly.

‘No, not exactly,’ said Jason.

‘What?’ said Florentyna in disbelief.

‘I’m told driving is mostly common sense.’

Florentyna pushed down the handle of her door, opening it slightly, as if to get out. Jason put his hand on her thigh.

‘Don’t be silly, Tyna. I was taught by my father and I’ve been driving for nearly a year.’

Florentyna blushed, closed the door again and had to admit to herself that he drove rather well all the way to the tennis club even if the car did rattle and bump as it went over the holes in the road.

The tennis match was a desperate affair with Florentyna trying hard to win a point while Jason tried hard to lose one. Somehow Jason managed to win by only 6–2, 6–1.

‘What I need is a Coke,’ he said at the end of the match.

‘What I need is a coach,’ said Florentyna.

He laughed and took her hand as they left the court, and even though she felt sweaty and hot, he did not let her hand go until they reached the bar at the back of the clubhouse. He bought one Coke and they sat drinking it from two straws in the corner of the room. When they had finished, Jason drove her home. On reaching Rigg Street, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. Florentyna did not respond, more out of shock than for any other reason.

‘Why don’t you come to the movies with me tonight?’ he said. ‘On the Town is showing at the United Artists.’

‘Well, I normally... Yes, I’d like that,’ said Florentyna.

‘Good, then I’ll pick you up at seven.’

Florentyna watched the car as it chugged away, and tried to think of some reason that would persuade her mother she had to be out that evening. She found Miss Tredgold preparing tea in the kitchen.

‘A good game, child?’ asked Miss Tredgold.

‘Not for him, I’m afraid. By the way, he wants to take me to’ — she hesitated — ‘to Orchestra Hall for a concert this evening so I won’t need any dinner.’

‘How nice,’ said Miss Tredgold. ‘Be sure you’re back before eleven or your mother will worry.’

Florentyna ran upstairs, sat on the end of the bed and started to think about what she could possibly wear that evening, how awful her hair looked and whether she could steal some of her mother’s makeup. She stood in front of the mirror wondering how she could make her breasts look bigger without holding her breath all night.

At seven o’clock Jason returned dressed in a red sloppy Joe sweater and khakis and was met at the door by Miss Tredgold.

‘How do you do, young man.’

‘How do you do, ma’am,’ said Jason.

‘Would you like to come into the drawing room?’

‘Thank you,’ said Jason.

‘And what is the concert you’re taking Florentyna to?’

‘The concert?’

‘Yes, I wondered who was playing,’ said Miss Tredgold. ‘I read a good review of Beethoven’s Third in the morning paper.’

‘Oh, yeah, Beethoven’s Third,’ said Jason, as Florentyna appeared on the stairs. Both Miss Tredgold and Jason were stunned. One approved while the other didn’t. Florentyna was wearing a green dress that fell just below the knee and revealed the sheerest nylon stockings with dark seams down the back. She walked slowly down the stairs, her long legs unsteady in high-heeled shoes, her small breasts looking larger than usual, her shining dark hair hanging down to her shoulders, reminiscent of Jennifer Jones, and making Florentyna appear a lot older than her fifteen years. The only item she wore to which Miss Tredgold could take no exception was the watch she herself had given to Florentyna on her thirteenth birthday.

‘Come on, Jason, or we’ll be late,’ said Florentyna, wanting to avoid any conversation with Miss Tredgold.

‘Sure thing,’ said Jason. Florentyna did not look back once for fear of being turned into a pillar of salt.

‘Be sure she’s home before eleven, young man,’ commanded Miss Tredgold.

‘Sure thing,’ repeated Jason as he closed the front door. ‘Where did you find her?’

‘Miss Tredgold?’

‘Yes, she’s straight out of a Victorian novel. “Be sure she’s home before eleven, young man,” ’ he mimicked as he opened the car door for her.

‘Don’t be rude,’ said Florentyna, and smiled at him coquettishly.

There was a long line outside the theater, and Florentyna spent most of the time standing beside Jason facing the wall in case someone might recognize her. Once inside, Jason quickly guided her to the back row with an air of having been there before.

She took her seat and when the lights went down she began to relax for the first time — but not for long. Jason leaned over, put his hand around her shoulder and started kissing her. She began to enjoy the sensation as he forced her lips open and their tongues touched for the first time. Then he broke away and they watched the titles go up on the screen. Florentyna liked Gene Kelly. Jason leaned over again and pressed his mouth against hers. Her lips parted. Almost immediately she felt a hand on her breast. She tried to remove his fingers, but once again his backhand was too strong for her. After a few seconds she came up for air and took a quick look at the Statue of Liberty before Jason returned with his other hand and fondled her other breast. This time she managed to push him away but only for a few moments. Annoyed, he took out a package of Camels and lit one. Florentyna couldn’t believe what was happening. After a few puffs he stubbed the cigarette out and placed a hand between her legs. In near panic, she stopped any further advance by squeezing her thighs closely together.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Jason. ‘Don’t be such a prude or you’ll end up like Miss Tredgold,’ and he bent over to kiss her once again.

‘For heaven’s sake, Jason, let’s watch the movie.’

‘Don’t be silly. No one goes to a movie house to watch a film.’ He put his hand back on her leg. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before. Hell, you’re sixteen. What are you hoping to be? The oldest virgin in Chicago?’

Florentyna jumped up and pushed her way out, stumbling over several pairs of feet before she reached the aisle. Without straightening her dress, she ran out of the theater as fast as she could. Once outside, she attempted to run, but couldn’t manage much more than a walking pace in her mother’s high heels, so she took the shoes off and ran in her stocking feet. When she reached the front door of her house she tried to compose herself, hoping she could get up to her room without bumping into Miss Tredgold, but she failed. Miss Tredgold’s bedroom door was ajar and as Florentyna tiptoed past, she said, ‘Concert over early, my dear?’

‘Yes... no... I mean, I didn’t feel very well,’ said Florentyna, and she ran into her own room before Miss Tredgold could ask any more questions. She went to bed that night still trembling.

She woke early the next morning and although still angry with Jason, she found herself laughing at what had taken place and even determined to go and see the film again, on her own this time. She liked Gene Kelly, but it was the first time she had seen her real idol on the screen, and she couldn’t get over how skinny and vulnerable he looked.

At Student Council the next day, Florentyna could not make herself look at Jason while he was stating in a quiet, firm voice that some senior boys who were not members of the Council were becoming casual about their dress. He also added that the next person caught smoking would have to be reported to the headmaster or his own reputation as president would be undermined. Everyone except Florentyna nodded in agreement.

‘Good, then I’ll put a notice on the bulletin board to that effect.’

As soon as the meeting was over, Florentyna slipped off to class before anyone could speak to her. She finished study hall late that evening and did not set off for Rigg Street until a few minutes after six o’clock. As she reached the main school door, it started to rain and she remained under the archway, hoping the storm would blow over quickly. As she stood there, Jason walked straight past her with a girl from the twelfth grade. She watched them climb into his car and she bit her lip. The rain came down harder, so she decided to return to her classroom and type up the minutes of the Student Council meeting. On her way back into school she passed a small crowd studying a notice on the board that confirmed the Council’s attitude toward sloppy dress and smoking.

Florentyna took about an hour to complete the minutes of the Council meeting, partly because her mind wandered continually back to Jason’s double standards. The rain had stopped by the time she finished her typing and she closed her typewriter case and placed the minutes in her desk. As she walked back down the corridor, she thought she heard a noise coming from the boys’ locker room. No one except members of the Student Council was allowed to remain in school after seven o’clock without special permission, so she turned back to see who it was. When she was a few yards away from the locker room, the light under the door went off. She walked over and opened the door and switched the light back on. It was a few seconds before Florentyna focused on him standing in the corner, trying to hide a cigarette behind his back, but he knew she had seen it.

‘Pete,’ she said in surprise.

‘Well, Miss Student Councillor, you’ve caught me once and for all. Two major offenses in one day. In school after hours, and smoking. Bang goes my chance of making Harvard,’ Pete Welling said as he ground out the cigarette on the stone floor. The vision of the Student Council president stubbing out his cigarette at the movie on Saturday night came back to her.

‘Jason Morton is hoping to go to Harvard, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. What’s that got to do with it?’ said Pete. ‘Nothing will stop him making the Ivy League.’

‘I just remembered. No girl is allowed in the boys’ locker room at any time.’

‘Yes, but you’re a member of—’

‘Good night, Pete.’

Florentyna began to enjoy the new authority and took her duties and responsibilities on the Student Council very seriously, so much so that as the year passed, Miss Tredgold feared that Florentyna’s academic work was suffering because of it. She did not comment on the matter to Mrs. Rosnovski; rather, she considered it her duty to find a solution. She hoped that Florentyna’s attitude might be nothing more than an adolescent phase of misplaced enthusiasm. Even Miss Tredgold, despite past experience of such problems, was surprised by how quickly Florentyna had changed since being entrusted with a little power.

By the middle of the second term Miss Tredgold realized that the problem was past that stage and fast becoming out of control. Florentyna was beginning to take herself, and not her work, far too seriously. Her end-of-term report was far from good by her normal high standards, and Florentyna’s homeroom teacher more than hinted that she was becoming highhanded with some of the other students and giving out demerits a little too freely.

Miss Tredgold could not help noticing that Florentyna had not been receiving as many invitations to parties as she had in the past and her friends did not seem to drop by Rigg Street quite so frequently, except for the loyal Edward Winchester... Miss Tredgold liked that boy.

Matters did not improve during the spring term and Florentyna began to be evasive when Miss Tredgold broached the subject of uncompleted homework. Zaphia, who had compensated for the loss of a husband by gaining ten pounds, was uncooperative. ‘I haven’t noticed anything unusual’ was her only comment when Miss Tredgold tried to discuss the problem.

Miss Tredgold pursed her lips and began to despair when one morning at breakfast Florentyna was downright rude when asked what she had planned to do for the weekend.

‘I’ll let you know if it concerns you, she said without looking up from Vogue. Mrs. Rosnovski showed no sign of noticing, so Miss Tredgold maintained a stony silence, judging that sooner or later the child was bound to discover that pride goeth before a fall.

It came sooner.

Chapter Nine

‘There’s no reason for you to be that confident,’ said Edward.

‘Why? Who’s going to beat me? I’ve been on the Council for nearly a year and everyone else on it is graduating,’ said Florentyna, lounging back in one of the horsehair chairs reserved for members of the Student Council.

Edward remained standing. ‘Yes, I realize that, but not everyone likes you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A lot of people think that since you’ve been on the Council, you’ve become a bit too big for your boots.’

‘I hope you’re not among them, Edward.’

‘No, I’m not. But I am worried that if you don’t bother to mix a little more with the students in the lower grades, you might be beaten.’

‘Don’t be silly. Why should I bother to get to know them when they already know me?’ she asked, fiddling with some papers on the armrest of her chair.

‘What’s come over you, Florentyna? You didn’t act like this a year ago,’ said Edward, looking down.

‘If you don’t like the way I carry out my duties, go and support someone else.’

‘It has nothing to do with the way you carry out your duties — everyone acknowledges you’ve been the best secretary anyone can remember — but different qualities are needed for president.’

‘Thank you for the advice, Edward, but you will discover that I can survive without it.’

‘Then you won’t want me to help you this year?’

‘Edward, you still haven’t got the message. It’s not a case of not wanting you but simply not needing you.’

‘I wish you luck, Florentyna, and I only hope I’m proved wrong.’

‘I don’t need your luck either. Some things in this life depend on ability.’

Florentyna did not repeat this conversation to Miss Tredgold.

At the end of the academic year, Florentyna was surprised to find that she had finished first in only Latin and French and overall had fallen to third in the class. Miss Tredgold read her report card carefully and it confirmed her worst fears, but she concluded there was no point in making any adverse comment to the child as she had stopped taking anyone’s advice unless it confirmed her own opinions. Once again, Florentyna spent the summer vacation in New York with her father, who allowed her to work as an assistant in one of the hotel shops.

Florentyna rose early each morning and dressed in the pastel green uniform of a junior member of the hotel staff. She threw all her energy into learning how the little fashion shop was run and was soon putting forward new ideas to Miss Parker, the manager, who was impressed — and not just because she was the Baron’s daughter. As the days passed, Florentyna gained more confidence and, conscious of the power of her privileged position, she stopped wearing the shop uniform and even started to order some of the junior sales staff around. She was, however, sufficiently cautious never to do this in front of Miss Parker.

One Friday, when Miss Parker was in her office checking the morning petty cash, Jessie Kovats, a junior sales assistant, arrived ten minutes late. Florentyna was standing at the door waiting for her.

‘You’re late again,’ said Florentyna, but Jessie didn’t bother to reply.

‘Did you hear me, Miss Kovats?’ demanded Florentyna.

‘Sure did,’ said Jessie, hanging up her raincoat.

‘Then what is your excuse this time?’

‘For you, I don’t have to have an excuse.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ said Florentyna, starting off toward Miss Parker’s office.

‘Don’t bother yourself, bossy boots. I’ve had enough of you in any case,’ said Jessie, who walked into Miss Parker’s office and closed the door behind her. Florentyna pretended to be tidying the counter while she waited for Jessie to return. A few minutes later the young assistant came out of the office, put her coat back on and left the shop without another word. Florentyna felt pleased with the result of her admonition. A few minutes later Miss Parker came out of her office.

‘Jessie tells me she’s leaving the shop because of you.’

‘Miss Kovats is hardly a great loss,’ volunteered Florentyna. ‘She didn’t exactly pull her weight.’

‘That is not the point, Florentyna. I have to continue to run this shop after you return to school.’

‘Perhaps by then we shall have weeded out the Jessie Kovatses of this world who shouldn’t, after all, be wasting my father’s time and money.’

‘Miss Rosnovski, this is a team. Not everyone can be clever and bright, or even hard-working, but within their limited abilities they do the best they can, and there have been no complaints in the past.’

‘Could that possibly be because my father is too busy to keep a watchful eye on you, Miss Parker?’

Miss Parker visibly flushed and steadied herself on the counter. ‘I think the time has come for you to work in another of your father’s shops. I have served him for nearly twenty years and he has never once spoken to me in such a discourteous way.’

‘Perhaps the time has come for you to work in another shop,’ said Florentyna, ‘and preferably not my father’s.’ Walking out of the front door, she made straight for the hotel’s private elevator and pressed the button marked ‘42.’ On arrival, Florentyna informed her father’s secretary that she needed to speak to him immediately.

‘He’s chairing a board meeting at the moment, Miss Rosnovski.’

‘Then interrupt him and tell him that I wish to see him.’

The secretary hesitated, then buzzed through to Mr. Rosnovski.

‘I thought I told you not to disturb me, Miss Deneroff.’

‘I apologize, sir, but your daughter is here and insists on seeing you.’

There was a pause. ‘All right, send her in.’

‘I am sorry, Papa, but this is something that can’t wait,’ Florentyna said as she entered the room, feeling suddenly less sure of herself as the eight men around the boardroom table rose. Abel guided her through to his own office.

‘Well, what is it that can’t wait, my darling?’

‘It’s Miss Parker. She’s stuffy, incompetent and stupid,’ said Florentyna, and she poured out to her father her version of what had happened that morning with Jessie Kovats.

Abel’s fingers never stopped tapping on his desktop as he listened to her tale. When she came to the end he flicked a switch on his intercom. ‘Please ask Miss Parker in the fashion shop to come up immediately.’

‘Thank you, Papa.’

‘Florentyna, would you be kind enough to wait next door while I deal with Miss Parker.’

‘Of course, Papa.’

A few minutes later, Miss Parker appeared, still looking flushed. Abel asked her what had happened. She gave an accurate account of the altercation, confining her view of Florentyna to the fact that she was a competent assistant but she had been the sole reason that Miss Kovats, a long-serving member of her staff, had left. And others, Miss Parker pointed out, might resign too if Florentyna persisted with her attitude. Abel listened, barely controlling his anger. He gave Miss Parker his opinion and told her that later that day she would receive a letter by hand confirming his decision.

‘If that is what you wish, sir,’ said Miss Parker, and left.

Abel buzzed his secretary. ‘Would you please ask my daughter to come back in, Miss Deneroff.’

Florentyna strode in. ‘Did you tell Miss Parker what you thought, Papa?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘She’ll find it hard to get another job.’

‘She won’t need to.’

‘Won’t need to?’

‘No. I gave her a raise and extended her contract,’ he said, leaning forward and placing both hands firmly on his desk. ‘If you ever treat a member of my staff that way again, I’ll put you over my knee and thrash you and it won’t be a gentle tap with a hairbrush. Jessie Kovats has already left because of your insufferable behavior and it is obvious no one in that shop likes you.’

Florentyna stared at her father in disbelief, then burst into tears.

‘And you can save your tears for someone else,’ continued Abel remorselessly. ‘They don’t impress me. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I have a company to run. Another week of you and I would have had a crisis on my hands. You will now go down to Miss Parker and apologize for your disgraceful behavior. You will also stay away from my shops until I decide you are ready to work in them again. And that is the last time you interrupt one of my board meetings. Do you understand?’

‘But, Papa—’

‘No buts. You will apologize to Miss Parker immediately.’

Florentyna ran out of her father’s office and returned to her room in tears, packed her bags, left her green pastel dress on the bedroom floor and took a cab to the airport.

On learning of her departure, Abel phoned Miss Tredgold, who listened to what had taken place with dismay, but not with surprise.

When Florentyna arrived home, her mother was still away at a health spa trying to shed a few unwanted pounds. Only Miss Tredgold was there to greet her.

‘You’re back a week early, I observe.’

‘Yes, I got bored with New York.’

‘Don’t lie, child.’

‘Must you pick on me as well?’ said Florentyna, and ran upstairs to her room. That weekend she locked herself in and only crept down to the kitchen at odd times for meals. Miss Tredgold made no attempt to see her.

On the first day of school Florentyna put on one of the smart pastel shirts with the new-style button-down collar she had bought at Bergdorf Goodman. She knew it would make every other girl at Girls Latin jealous. She was going to show them all how a future president of the Student Council should behave. As no member of Council could be elected for two weeks, she wore a shirt of a different color every day and took upon herself the responsibilities of president. She even started to think about what type of car she would talk her father into when she had won the election. At all times she avoided Edward Winchester, who had put his own name forward for Council, and she laughed openly at any comments made about his popularity. On the Monday of the third week, Florentyna went to morning assembly to hear herself confirmed as the new student president.

When Miss Allen, the headmistress, had read out the full list, Florentyna could not believe her ears. She had not even finished in the first six. In fact, she was only barely the runner-up, and of all people, Edward Winchester had been elected president. As she left the hall, no one commiserated with her and she spent the day in a silent daze at the back of the classroom. When she returned home that night, she crept up to Miss Tredgold’s room and knocked gently on the door.

‘Come.’

Florentyna opened the door slowly and looked toward Miss Tredgold, who was reading at her desk.

‘They didn’t make me president,’ she said quietly. ‘In fact, they didn’t even elect me to the Council.’

‘I know,’ Miss Tredgold replied, closing her Bible.

‘How can you have known?’ asked Florentyna.

‘Because I wouldn’t have voted for you myself.’ The governess paused. ‘But that’s an end of the matter, child.’

Florentyna ran across the room and threw her arms around Miss Tredgold, who held her tight.

‘Good, now we shall have to start rebuilding bridges. Dry your tears, my dear, and we shall begin immediately. There is no time to be lost. Pad and pencil are needed.’

Florentyna wrote down the list dictated by Miss Tredgold and did not argue with any of her instructions. That night she wrote long letters to her father, Miss Parker — enclosing another letter for Jessie Kovats — Edward Winchester, and finally, although the name was not on her list, to Miss Tredgold. The next day she went to confession with Father O’Reilly. On returning to school, Florentyna helped the newly appointed secretary with her first minutes, showing her the system she had found to work most satisfactorily. She wished the new president luck and promised that she would help him and his Council if she was ever needed. She spent the next week answering any queries that came up from the student councillors but never volunteered advice. When Edward met her in the corridor a few days later he told her that the Council had voted to allow her to keep all her privileges. Miss Tredgold advised her to accept Edward’s kind offer with courtesy but at no time to take advantage of it. Florentyna put all her new New York shirts in a bottom drawer and locked them away.

A few days later the headmistress called for her. Florentyna feared it would take longer to regain her respect, however determined she was to do so. When Florentyna arrived at her study, the tiny, immaculately dressed woman gave her a friendly smile and motioned to a comfortable seat by her side.

‘You must have been very disappointed by the election results.’

‘Yes, Miss Allen,’ said Florentyna, assuming she was to receive further chastisement.

‘But by all accounts you have learned greatly from the experience and I suspect you will be wanting to make amends.’

‘It’s too late, Miss Allen. I leave at the end of the year and can now never be president.’

‘True, true. So we must look for other mountains to climb. I retire at the end of the year, having been headmistress for twenty-five years, and I confess there is little left that I wish to achieve. The boys and girls of Latin have excellent admission records to Harvard, Yale, Radcliffe and Smith, and we have always been better than every other school in Illinois and as good as any on the East Coast. However, there is one achievement that has eluded me.’

‘What’s that, Miss Allen?’

‘The boys have won every major scholarship to the Ivy League universities at least once, Princeton three times, but one scholarship has eluded the girls for a quarter of a century. That is the James Adams Woolson Prize Scholarship in the Classics at Radcliffe. I wish to enter your name for that scholarship. Should you win the prize, my cup will be full.’

‘I would like to try,’ said Florentyna, ‘but my record lately—’

‘Indeed,’ said the headmistress, ‘but as Mrs. Churchill pointed out to Winston when he was surprisingly beaten in an election, “That may yet turn out to be a blessing in disguise.” ’

‘ “Some disguise.” ’ They both smiled.

That night, Florentyna studied the entry form for the James Adams Woolson Prize. The scholarship was open to every girl in America between the ages of sixteen and eighteen on July 1 of that year. There were three papers, one for Latin, one for Greek and a general paper on current affairs.

During the ensuing weeks, Florentyna spoke only Latin and Greek to Miss Tredgold before breakfast, and every weekend Miss Allen assigned her three general questions to be completed by the following Monday morning. As the examination day drew nearer, Florentyna became aware that the hopes of the whole school were with her. She sat awake at night with Cicero, Virgil, Plato and Aristotle, and every morning after breakfast she would write five hundred words on such varied subjects as the Twenty-second Amendment, the significance of President Truman’s power over Congress during the Korean War — even on the impact that television would have in going nationwide.

At the end of each day, Miss Tredgold checked through Florentyna’s work, adding footnotes and comments before they would both collapse into bed, only to be up at six-thirty the next morning to work their way through further old scholarship examination papers. Far from gaining confidence, Florentyna confided to Miss Tredgold that she became more frightened as each day passed.

The prize exam was set for early March at Radcliffe, and on the eve of departure day Florentyna unlocked her bottom drawer and selected her favorite of the New York shirts. Miss Tredgold accompanied her to the station and the few words they spoke on the way were in Greek. Her final words were: ‘Don’t spend the longest time on the easiest question.’

When they reached the platform, Florentyna felt an arm encircle her waist and a rose appeared in front of her.

‘Edward, you nut.’

‘That is not the way to address the president of the Student Council. Don’t bother to come back if you fail to win the Woolson Prize,’ he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

Neither of them noticed the smile on Miss Tredgold’s face.

Florentyna found a car that was virtually empty. She would remember very little of the journey, for she rarely looked up from her copy of the Oresteia.

When she arrived in Boston, she was met by a Ford ‘Woody’ station wagon, which took her and four other girls who must have been on the same train to the Radcliffe yard. During the journey spasmodic exchanges of polite conversation punctuated long, tense silences. Florentyna was relieved to find that she had been put in a residential house at 55 Garden Street in a room of her own: she hoped she would be able to conceal how nervous she was.

At six o’clock the girls all met in Longfellow Hall, where the dean of instruction, Mrs. Wilma Kirby-Miller, reviewed the details of the examination.

‘Tomorrow, ladies, between nine and twelve, you will write the Latin paper, and in the afternoon between three and six, the Greek paper. The following morning you will complete the examination with the general paper on current affairs. It would be foolish to wish everyone success, as you cannot all expect to win the Woolson Prize, so I will only express the hope that when you have completed the three papers, each and every one of you will feel that you could not have done better.’

Florentyna returned to her room in Garden Street conscious of how little she knew and feeling very lonely. She went down to the ground floor and called her mother and Miss Tredgold on the pay phone. The next morning she woke at three and read a few pages of Aristotle’s Politics, but nothing would stick. When she came downstairs at seven, she walked around Radcliffe Yard several times before going to Agassiz House for breakfast. She found two telegrams awaiting her, one from her father wishing her luck and inviting her to join him for a trip to Europe in the summer. The second, from Miss Tredgold, read: ‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.’

After breakfast, she walked once again around the yard, this time with several other girls, before taking her place in Longfellow Hall. Two hundred forty-three girls waited for the clock to chime nine, when the proctors allowed them to open the little brown envelopes placed on the desk in front of them. Florentyna read through the Latin paper once quickly and then again carefully, before selecting those questions that she felt best equipped to answer. At twelve the clock struck again and her blue books were taken away from her. She returned to her room and read Greek for two hours, eating a solitary Hershey bar for lunch. In the afternoon she attempted three questions in Greek. At six she was penning emendations when the paper had to be handed in. She walked back to her little room in Garden Street exhausted, fell onto the narrow bed and didn’t stir until it was time to eat. Over a late dinner, she listened to the same conversations with different accents from Philadelphia to Houston, and from Detroit to Atlanta: it was comforting to discover that everyone was as nervous about the outcome of the examination as she was. Florentyna knew that almost everyone who took the scholarship examination would be offered a place at Radcliffe, and twenty-two could be awarded scholarships; but only one would win the James Adams Woolson Prize.

On the second day she opened the brown envelope containing the general paper fearing the worst but relaxed a little when she read the first question: ‘What changes would have taken place in America if the Twenty-second Amendment had been passed before Roosevelt became President?’ She began to write furiously.

On Florentyna’s return to Chicago, Miss Tredgold was standing on the platform waiting for her.

‘I shall not ask if you consider you have won the prize, my dear, only if you did as well as you had hoped.’

‘Yes,’ said Florentyna, after some thought. ‘If I don’t win a scholarship, it will be because I am not good enough.’

‘You can ask for no more, child, and neither can I, so the time has come to tell you that I shall be returning to England in July.’

‘Why?’ said Florentyna, stunned.

‘What do you imagine there is left for me to do for you, now that you’re off to university? I have been offered the post of head of the classics department at a girls’ school in the west country of England, starting in September, and I have accepted.’

‘ “You could not leave me if you knew how much I loved you.” ’

Miss Tredgold smiled at the quotation and produced the next line. ‘ “It is because of how much I love you that I must now leave you, Perdano.” ’

Florentyna took her hand, and Miss Tredgold smiled at the beautiful young woman who could already make men’s heads turn as the two women passed by.

The next few weeks at school were not easy for Florentyna as she waited for the exam results. She tried to assure Edward that at least he was certain to gain a place at Harvard.

‘They have more sports fields than lecture halls,’ she teased, ‘so you can’t fail.’

He could fail and she knew it, and as each day passed, the hopes of both turned to fears. Florentyna had been told that the results of the examination would be known on April 14. On that morning the headmistress called Florentyna to her study and sat her in a corner of the room while she called the registrar at Radcliffe. The registrar already had several people holding to speak to her. At last she took Miss Allen’s call.

‘Would you be kind enough to let me know if a Miss Florentyna Rosnovski has won a scholarship to Radcliffe?’ asked the headmistress.

There was a long pause. ‘How do you spell that name?’

‘R-O-S-N-O-V-S-K-I.’

Another pause. Florentyna clenched her fist. Then the registrar’s voice, audible to them both, came over the line: ‘No, I am sorry to tell you that Miss Rosnovski’s name is not among the list of scholars, but more than seventy percent of those who took the scholarship examination will be offered a place at Radcliffe and will be hearing from us in the next few days.’

Neither Miss Allen nor Florentyna could mask their disappointment. As Florentyna came out of the study she found Edward waiting for her. He threw his arms around her and almost shouted, ‘I’m going to Harvard. And how about you? Did you win the Woolson?’ But he could see the answer in her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘How thoughtless of me,’ and held her in his arms as the tears came. Some younger girls who passed them giggled. Edward took her home and she, Miss Tredgold and her mother ate dinner together in silence.

Two weeks later, on Parents’ Day, Miss Allen presented Florentyna with the school Classics Prize, but it was no consolation. Her mother and Miss Tredgold applauded politely, but Florentyna had told her father not to come to Chicago as there was nothing particular to celebrate.

After the presentation, Miss Allen tapped the lectern in front of her before she started to speak. ‘In all my years at Girls Latin,’ said the headmistress in clear, resonant tones, ‘it has been no secret that I wanted a pupil to win the James Adams Woolson Prize Scholarship to Radcliffe.’ Florentyna stared down at the wooden floorboard between her feet. ‘And this year,’ continued Miss Allen, ‘I was convinced that we had produced our finest scholar in twenty-five years and that my dream would be realized. Two weeks ago, I phoned Radcliffe to discover our entrant had not won a scholarship. But today I received a telegram that is nevertheless worth reading to you.’

Florentyna sat back, hoping her father was not responsible for some embarrassing message of congratulation.

Miss Allen put on her reading spectacles. ‘ “Name of Florentyna Rosnovski not announced among general scholars because happy to inform you she is winner of James Adams Woolson Prize. Please telegraph acceptance.” ’ The room erupted as pupils and parents cheered. Miss Allen raised a hand, and the hall fell silent. ‘After twenty-five years I should have remembered that the Woolson is always announced separately at a later day. You must put it down to old age.’ There was a polite ripple of laughter before Miss Allen continued: ‘There are those of us here who believe that Florentyna will go on to serve her college and country in a manner that can only reflect well upon this school. I now have only one wish left: that I live long enough to witness it.’

Florentyna stood and looked toward her mother. Large tears were coursing down Zaphia’s cheeks.

No one present would have realized that the lady seated bolt upright next to Zaphia, staring straight ahead, was reveling in the applause.

Much happiness and sadness now surrounded Florentyna, but nothing was to compare with her farewell to Miss Tredgold. On the train journey from Chicago to New York, during which Florentyna tried to express her love and gratitude, she handed the older woman an envelope.

‘What’s this, child?’ asked Miss Tredgold.

‘The four thousand shares of the Baron Group which we have earned over the past four years.’

‘But that includes your shares as well as mine, my dear.’

‘No,’ said Florentyna, ‘it doesn’t take into account my saving on the Woolson Prize Scholarship.’

Miss Tredgold made no reply.

An hour later, Miss Tredgold stood on the dock in New York’s Hudson River waiting to board her ship, finally to release her charge to adult life.

‘I shall think of you from time to time, my dear,’ she said, ‘and hope that my father was right about destiny.’ Florentyna kissed Miss Tredgold on both cheeks and watched her mount the gangplank. When she reached the deck, Miss Tredgold turned, waved a gloved hand once and then hailed a porter, who picked up her bags and followed the stern-looking lady toward her cabin. She did not once look at Florentyna, who stood like a statue on the pier holding back the tears because she knew Miss Tredgold would not approve.

When Miss Tredgold reached her berth, she tipped the porter fifty cents and locked the door.

Winifred Tredgold sat down on the end of the bunk and wept unashamedly.

Chapter Ten

Florentyna had not been so unsure about anything since her first day at the Girls Latin School. When she returned from her summer holiday in Europe with her father a thick manila envelope from Radcliffe was awaiting her. It contained all the details of when and where she should report, what to wear, a course catalogue and the ‘Red Book’ detailing Radcliffe rules. Florentyna sat on her bed studiously taking in page after page of information until she came to Rule 11a: If you entertain a man in your room for tea, at all times the door must be kept ajar, and all four feet must always be touching the floor. Florentyna burst out laughing at the thought that the first time she made love it might be standing up, behind an open door, holding a cup of tea.

As the time drew nearer for her to leave Chicago, she began to realize just how much she had depended on Miss Tredgold. She packed three large suitcases, including all the new clothes she had bought on her European trip. Her mother, looking elegant in the latest Chanel suit, drove Florentyna to the station. When she boarded the train she was suddenly aware it was the first time she had traveled anywhere for any period of time without knowing somebody at the other end.

She arrived in Boston to find New England a beautiful contrast of September greens and yellows. An old school bus was waiting to transport students to the campus. As the ancient vehicle crossed the Charles, Florentyna looked through the back window to see the sun glinting off the dome of the State House. A few sails dotted the water, and eight enthusiastic students were pulling their oars through the wash while an older man on a bicycle shouted orders through a megaphone as he rode along the towpath. When the bus came to a halt at Radcliffe, a middle-aged woman in academic dress herded the freshmen into Longfellow Hall, where Florentyna had taken the Woolson exam. There they were briefed on which hall they would live in during their first year and their rooms were allocated to them. Florentyna drew room 7 in Whitman Hall. A sophomore helped her carry her bags across to Whitman and then left her to unpack.

The room smelled as if the painters had moved out only the day before. It was clear that she was to share with two other girls: there were three beds, three dressers, three desks, three desk chairs, three desk lamps, three pillows, three coverlets and three sets of blankets, according to the checklist that was left on the inside of the door. As there was no sign of her roommates, she chose the bed nearest the window and started to unpack. She was just about to unlock the last suitcase when the door was flung open and a large valise landed in the middle of the room.

‘Hi,’ said a voice that sounded to Florentyna more like a foghorn than a freshman from Radcliffe. ‘My name is Bella Hellaman. I’m from San Francisco.’

Bella shook hands with Florentyna, who immediately regretted the act as she smiled up at the six-foot giant who must have weighed well over two hundred pounds. Bella looked like a double bass and sounded like a tuba. She began to size up the room.

‘I knew they wouldn’t have a bed large enough for me,’ was her next pronouncement. ‘My headmistress did warn me that I should have applied to a men’s college.’

Florentyna burst out laughing.

‘You won’t laugh so loud when I keep you awake all night. I toss and turn so much you’ll think you’re on board a ship,’ Bella warned as she pushed open the window above Florentyna’s bed to let in the cool Boston air. ‘What time do they serve dinner at this place? I haven’t had a decent meal since I left California.’

‘I’ve no idea, but it’s all in the Red Book,’ said Florentyna, picking up her copy from the side of her bed. She started flicking through the pages until she reached ‘Meals, times of.’ ‘Dinner, six-thirty to seven-thirty.’

‘Then at the stroke of six-thirty,’ Bella said, ‘I shall be under starter’s orders at the dining room door. Have you found out where the gymnasium is?’

‘To be honest, I haven’t,’ said Florentyna, grinning. ‘It wasn’t high on my list of priorities for the first day.’

There was a knock on the door, and Bella shouted, ‘Come in.’ Florentyna later learned that it had not been a shout, just her normal speaking voice. Into the room stepped a Dresden china blonde, not a hair out of place, dressed in a neat dark-blue suit. She smiled, revealing a set of small, even teeth. Bella smiled back at her as though her dinner had arrived early.

‘My name is Wendy Brinklow,’ said a voice with a slight southern accent. ‘I think I’m sharing a room with you.’ Florentyna wanted to warn her about Bella’s handshake, but it was too late. She watched Wendy cringe.

‘You’ll have to sleep over there,’ Bella said, pointing to the remaining bed. ‘You don’t by any chance know where the gymnasium is, do you?’

‘Why should Radcliffe need a gymnasium?’ said Wendy as Bella helped her in with her suitcases. Bella and Wendy started to unpack and Florentyna fiddled with her books, trying not to make it too obvious that she was fascinated by what came out of Bella’s suitcases. First there were goalie pads, a breast pad, and two pairs of cleats, then a face mask, which Florentyna tried on, and finally a pair of hockey gloves, all in addition to the two hockey sticks she had had strapped to the valise she had earlier flung into the room. Wendy had all her clothes in neat little piles packed away in her dresser before Bella had even worked out where to put her hockey sticks. Eventually she just threw them under the bed.

When they had finished unpacking, the three girls set off for the dining hall. Bella was the first to reach the cafeteria line and loaded her plate so full with meat and vegetables that she had to balance it on the palm of her hand. Florentyna helped herself to what she considered a normal amount and Wendy managed a couple of spoonfuls of salad. Florentyna was beginning to feel they resembled Goldilocks’s three bears.

Two of them had the sleepless night Bella had promised Florentyna and it was several weeks before either she or Wendy managed eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Years later, Florentyna discovered that she could sleep anywhere, even in a crowded airport lounge, thanks to spending her freshman year with Bella.

Bella was the first freshman to play goalie for the Radcliffe varsity and she spent the year happily terrifying anyone who dared to try to score against her. She always shook hands with the few who did. Wendy spent much of the time being chased by men who visited the campus and some of the time being caught. She also passed more hours reading the Kinsey Report than her class notes.

‘Darlings,’ she said, eyes saucer-wide, ‘it’s a serious piece of academic work written by a distinguished professor.’

‘The first academic work to sell over a million copies,’ commented Bella, as she picked up her hockey sticks and left the room.

Wendy, seated in front of the one mirror in the room, was checking her lipstick.

‘Who’s it this time?’ asked Florentyna.

‘No one in particular,’ she replied. ‘But Dartmouth has sent their tennis team over to play Harvard and I couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Do you want to come along?’

‘No thanks, but I would like to know the secret of how you find them,’ said Florentyna, looking at herself appraisingly in the mirror. ‘I can’t remember when anyone other than Edward last asked me out.’

‘It doesn’t take a lot of research,’ said Wendy. ‘Perhaps you put them off.’

‘How?’ asked Florentyna, turning toward her.

Wendy put down her lipstick and picked up a comb. ‘You’re too obviously bright and intelligent, and not many men can handle that. You frighten them and that’s not good for their egos.’

Florentyna laughed.

‘I’m serious. How many men would have dared to approach your beloved Miss Tredgold, let alone make a pass at her?’

‘So what do you suggest I do about it?’ asked Florentyna.

‘You’re good-looking enough, and I don’t know anyone with a better dress sense, so just act dumb and massage their ego; then they feel they have to take care of you. It always works for me.’

‘But how do you stop them thinking they have the right to jump into bed with you after one hamburger?’

‘Oh, I usually get three or four steaks before I let them try anything. And just occasionally I say yes.’

‘That’s all very well, but how did you handle it the first time?’

‘God knows,’ said Wendy. ‘I can’t remember that far back.’

Florentyna laughed again.

‘If you come to the tennis with me you might get lucky. After all, there’ll be five other men from Dartmouth, not to mention the six on the Harvard team.’

‘No, I can’t,’ Florentyna said regretfully. ‘I still have an essay on Oedipus to finish by six o’clock.’

‘And we all know what happened to him,’ said Wendy, grinning.

Despite their different interests, the three girls became inseparable, and Florentyna and Wendy would always spend Saturday afternoons watching Bella play hockey. Wendy even learned to scream ‘Kill ’em,’ from the sidelines, although it didn’t sound very convincing. It was a hectic first year and Florentyna enjoyed regaling her father with stories of Radcliffe, Bella and Wendy.

She had to study hard as her advisor, Miss Rose, was quick to point out that the Woolson Scholarship came up for renewal every year and that it would do neither of their reputations any good if the prize were withdrawn. At the end of the year Florentyna’s grades were more than satisfactory and she had also found time to join the Debating Society and was made freshman representative for the Radcliffe Democratic Club. But she felt her greatest achievement was trouncing Bella on the Fresh Pond golf course by seven strokes.

In the summer vacation of 1952, Florentyna only spent two weeks in New York with her father because she had applied to be a page at the Chicago convention.

Once Florentyna had returned to her mother in Illinois she threw herself back into politics. The Republican Party convention had been held in the city two weeks earlier and the GOP had chosen Dwight D. Eisenhower and Richard Nixon as their candidates. Florentyna couldn’t see how the Democrats would come up with anyone to challenge Eisenhower, the biggest national hero since Teddy Roosevelt. ‘I Like Ike’ buttons were everywhere.

When on July 21 the Democratic convention opened, Florentyna was given the job of showing VIPs to their seats on the speakers’ platform. During those four days she learned two things of value. The first was the importance of contacts, and the second the vanity of politicians. Twice during the four days she placed senators in the wrong seats and they could not have made more fuss if she had ushered them into the electric chair. The brightest moment of her week came when a good-looking young congressman from Massachusetts asked her where she was at college.

‘When I was at Harvard,’ he said, ‘I spent far too much of my time at Radcliffe. They tell me now it’s the other way around.’

Florentyna wanted to say something witty and bright that he would remember but nothing came out, and it was many years before she saw John Kennedy again.

The climax of the convention came when she watched the delegates select Adlai Stevenson as their standard-bearer. She had greatly admired him when he was governor of Illinois, but Florentyna did not believe that such an academic man could hope to defeat Eisenhower on Election Day. Despite the shouting, cheering and singing of ‘Happy Days Are Here Again,’ not everybody in that hall seemed to believe it either.

Once the convention was over, Florentyna went back to Henry Osborne’s headquarters to try to help him retain his seat in Congress. This time she was put in charge of the switchboard inquiries, but the responsibility gave her little pleasure, for she had known for some time that the congressman was not respected by his party workers, let alone by his constituents. His reputation as a drinker and his second divorce were not helping him with the middle-class voters in his district.

Florentyna found him all too casual and glib about the trust the voters had placed in him and she began to see why people had so little faith in their elected representatives. That faith took another blow when Eisenhower’s Vice Presidential candidate, Richard Nixon, addressed the nation on September 23 to explain away an $18,000 slush fund, which he claimed had been set up for him by a group of millionaire backers as ‘necessary political expenses’ and for ‘exposing Communists.’

On the day of the election, Florentyna and her fellow workers were halfhearted about both of their candidates, and those feelings were reflected at the polls. Eisenhower won the election by the largest popular vote in American history, 33,936,234 to 27,314,992. Among the casualties removed in the Republican landslide was Representative Osborne.

Disenchanted with politics, Florentyna returned to Radcliffe for her sophomore year and put all her energy into her studies. Bella had been elected captain of hockey, the first sophomore to be so honored. Wendy claimed to have fallen in love with a Dartmouth tennis player named Roger and, taking fashion advice from Florentyna, started studying bridal gowns in Vogue. Although they now all had single rooms in Whitman, the three girls saw each other regularly. Florentyna never missed a hockey game, come rain or snow, both of which Cambridge frequently endured, while Wendy introduced her to several men who never quite seemed worthy of the third or fourth steak.

It was halfway through the spring semester that Florentyna returned to her room to find Wendy sitting on the floor in tears.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Florentyna. ‘The midterms? You haven’t flunked them?’

‘No, it’s much worse than that.’

‘What could be worse than that?’

‘I’m pregnant.’

‘What?’ said Florentyna, kneeling down and putting an arm around her. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘This is the second month I’ve missed my period.’

‘Well, that’s not conclusive, and if the worse comes to the worst, we know Roger wants to marry you.’

‘He may not be the father.’

‘Oh, my God,’ said Florentyna. ‘Who is?’

‘I think it must have been Bob. The football player from Princeton. You met him, remember?’

Florentyna didn’t. There had been quite a few during the year, and she wasn’t sure what to do next when Wendy couldn’t even be certain of the father’s name. All three girls sat up late into the night with Bella displaying a gentleness and understanding Florentyna would never have thought possible. It was decided that if Wendy missed her next period she would have to make an appointment to see the university gynecologist, Dr. MacLeod.

Wendy did miss her next period, and asked Bella and Florentyna to accompany her when she went to Dr. MacLeod’s office on Brattle Street. The doctor informed Wendy’s class dean of her pregnancy that night and no one was surprised by her decision. Wendy’s father arrived the next day and thanked them both for all they had done before taking his daughter back to Nashville. It all happened so suddenly that neither of the two other girls could believe they wouldn’t see Wendy again. Florentyna felt helpless and wondered if she could have done more.

At the end of her sophomore year, Florentyna began to believe she could win a coveted Phi Beta Kappa Key. She was fast losing her interest in university politics; a combination of McCarthy and Nixon was not inspiring, and she became even more disillusioned by an incident that occurred at the end of the summer vacation.

Florentyna had returned to work for her father in New York. She had learned a lot since the ‘Jessie Kovats’ incident. In fact, Abel was now happy to leave her in charge of various Baron shops when their managers were on vacation.

During one lunch break she tried to avoid a smartly dressed middle-aged man who was passing through the hotel lobby at the same time, but he spotted her, and shouted:

‘Hi, Florentyna.’

‘Hello, Henry,’ she said with little enthusiasm.

He learned forward and gripped her on both arms before kissing her on the cheek.

‘It’s your lucky day, my dear,’ he said.

‘Why?’ asked Florentyna, genuinely puzzled.

‘I have been stood up by my date tonight and I’m going to give you the chance to take her place.’

‘Get lost,’ is what she would have said if Henry Osborne had not been a director of the Baron Group, and she was about to make some suitable excuse when he added, ‘I’ve got tickets for Can-Can.’

Since her arrival in New York, Florentyna had been trying to get seats for Broadway’s latest smash hit and had been told they were sold out for eight weeks, by which time she would have returned to Radcliffe. She hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Thank you, Henry.’

They agreed to meet at Sardi’s, where they had a drink before walking over to the Shubert Theater. The show lived up to Florentyna’s expectations and she decided it would have been churlish of her not to accept Henry’s invitation to supper afterward. He took her to the Rainbow Room and it was there that the trouble started. He had three double scotches before the first course arrived and although he was not the first person to put a hand on her knee he was the first of her father’s friends to do so. By the time they came to the end of the meal Henry had drunk so much he was barely coherent.

In the cab on the way back to the Baron, he stubbed out his cigarette and tried to kiss her. She squeezed herself into the corner of the cab, but it didn’t deter him. She had no idea how to handle a drunk and didn’t know until then how persistent they could be. When they reached the Baron, he insisted on accompanying Florentyna to her room, and she felt unable to refuse his overtures, fearing that any public row would reflect badly on her father. Once they were in the private elevator he tried to kiss her again, and when they reached her small apartment on the forty-second floor Henry forced his way inside as she opened the door. He immediately went over to the small bar and poured himself another large scotch. Florentyna regretted that her father was in France and that George would have left the hotel to go home long ago. She wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

‘Don’t you think you should leave now, Henry?’

‘What?’ slurred Henry. ‘Before the fun has begun?’ He lurched toward her. ‘A girl ought to show how grateful she is when a fellow has taken her to the best show in town and given her a first-class meal.’

‘I am grateful, Henry, but I am also tired and I would like to go to bed.’

‘Exactly what I had in mind.’

Florentyna felt quite sick as he almost fell on her and ran his hands down her back, stopping only when he reached her buttocks.

‘Henry, you had better leave before you do something you’ll regret,’ Florentyna said, feeling she sounded a little absurd.

‘I’m not gonna regret anything,’ he said as he tried to force down the zipper on the back of her dress. ‘And neither will you.’

Florentyna tried to push him away, but he was far too strong for her, so she began hitting him on the side of the arms.

‘Don’t put up too much of a fight, my dear,’ he panted. ‘I know you really want it, and I’ll show you a thing or two those college boys won’t know about.’

Florentyna’s knees gave way and she collapsed onto the carpet with Henry on top of her, knocking the phone from a table onto the floor.

‘That’s better,’ he said, ‘although I like a bit of spirit.’

He grabbed at her again, pinioning her arms above her head with one hand. He started moving his other hand up her thigh. With all the force she could muster she freed an arm and slapped Henry across the face, but he only grabbed her hair tightly and pushed her dress above her waist. There was a rip, and Henry laughed drunkenly.

‘It would have been easier... if you had taken the damned thing off... in the first place,’ he said in breathless grunts as he extended the tear.

Florentyna stared helplessly backward and saw a heavy crystal vase holding some roses next to where the phone had stood. With her free arm she pulled Henry toward her and started kissing him passionately on the face and neck.

‘That’s more like it,’ he said, releasing her other arm.

Slowly she reached backward for the vase. When she had it firmly in her hand, she broke away and brought the vase crashing down on the back of his skull. His head slumped forward and it took all her strength to push him off her. Florentyna’s first reaction when she saw the blood pouring from his scalp was to fear that she had killed him. There was a loud knock on the door.

Startled, Florentyna tried to stand up, but she felt too weak in the knees. The knock came again, even louder, but this time accompanied by a voice that could belong to only one person. Florentyna staggered to the door and opened it to find Bella taking up the whole space between the jambs.

‘You look awful.’

‘I feel awful.’ Florentyna stared down at her tattered Balenciaga evening dress.

‘Who did that to you?’

Florentyna took a pace backward and pointed to the motionless body of Henry Osborne.

‘Now I see why your phone was off the hook,’ said Bella as she strode over to the prostrate body. ‘Got rather less than he deserved, I see.’

‘Is he still alive?’ asked Florentyna weakly.

Bella knelt over him and checked his pulse. ‘Unfortunately, yes. It’s only a flesh wound. He wouldn’t have lived if I’d hit him. Now all he’ll have to show for his trouble is a large bump on his head in the morning, which is not enough for a jerk like that. I think I’ll throw him out the window,’ she added, picking Henry up and chucking him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

‘No, Bella. We’re on the forty-second floor.’

‘He won’t notice the first forty-one,’ said Bella, and started walking toward the window.

‘No, no,’ said Florentyna.

Bella grinned before turning back. ‘I’ll be generous this time and put him in the freight elevator. The management can deal with him as they see fit.’ Florentyna did not argue as Bella strode past her with Henry still over her shoulder. She returned a few moments later looking as if she had saved a penalty against Vassar.

‘I’ve sent him to the basement,’ she said with glee.

Florentyna was sitting on the floor sipping a Rémy Martin.

‘Bella, am I ever going to be wooed romantically?’

‘I’m the wrong person to ask. No one has ever tried to rape me, let alone be romantic.’

Florentyna fell into her arms laughing. ‘Thank God you came when you did. Why are you here, not that I’m complaining?’

‘Little Miss Efficiency has forgotten that I’m being put up in the hotel tonight because I’m playing hockey in New York tomorrow. The Devils against the Angels.’

‘But they’re both men’s teams.’

‘That’s what they think, and don’t interrupt. When I arrived at the desk they had no reservation in my name and the receptionist told me the hotel was packed, so I thought I would come up and complain to the management. Give me a pillow and I’ll be happy to sleep in the bathtub.’

Florentyna held her head in her hands.

‘Why are you crying?’

‘I’m not, I’m laughing. Bella, you deserve a king-size bed and you shall have one.’ Florentyna put the phone back on the hook and then picked up the receiver.

‘Yes, Miss Rosnovski?’

‘Is the Presidential Suite free tonight?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Please register it in the name of Miss Bella Hellaman and charge it to me. She’ll be down to confirm in a minute.’

‘Certainly, miss. How will I recognize Miss Hellaman?’

The next morning Henry Osborne called and begged Florentyna not to tell her father what had taken place the night before, pleading with her that it wouldn’t have happened if he had not drunk so much and adding plaintively that he could not afford to lose his place on the board. Florentyna stared down at the bloodstain on the carpet and reluctantly agreed.

Chapter eleven

When Abel returned from Paris he was appalled to learn that one of his directors had been found drunk in a freight elevator and had needed seventeen stitches in his scalp.

‘No doubt Henry is claiming he tripped over a dumbwaiter,’ said Abel before he unlocked a drawer in his desk, took out an unmarked file and added another note to it.

‘More likely a dumb blonde,’ laughed George.

Abel nodded.

‘Are you going to do anything about Henry?’ George asked.

‘Not at the moment. He’s still useful as long as he has contacts in Washington. In any case, I’m up to my eyes with buildings in London and Paris, and now I see the board wants me to look at possibilities in Amsterdam, Geneva, Cannes and Edinburgh. And now Zaphia is threatening to take me to court if I don’t increase her alimony.’

‘Perhaps the easy way out would be to pension Henry off?’ suggested George.

‘Not quite yet,’ replied Abel. ‘There is still one thing I need him for.’

George couldn’t think of anything.

‘We’ll kill ’em,’ said Bella. Bella’s decision to challenge Harvard’s ice hockey team to a field hockey match came as no surprise to anyone except the Harvard team, which politely declined the invitation without comment. Bella immediately took out a half-page advertisement in the Harvard Crimson which read:

The enterprising editor of the Crimson, who had seen the advertisement before it went to press, decided to interview Bella, so she landed on the front page as well. The photograph of Bella wearing her mask and pads, and brandishing a hockey stick, ran with the caption: ‘She’s more frightening when she takes the mask off.’ Bella was delighted with the picture and with the caption.

Within a week Harvard had offered to send its third-string team to Radcliffe. Bella refused, demanding varsity players only. A compromise was reached, with Harvard making up a team of four varsity players, four junior varsity players and three third-string players. A date was chosen and the necessary preparations were made. The undergraduates at Radcliffe began to get quite chauvinistic about the challenge, and Bella became a cult figure on campus.

‘More figure than cult,’ she told Florentyna.

Bella’s tactics for trying to win the match were later described by the Harvard Crimson as nothing short of diabolical. When the Harvard team arrived in their bus they were met by eleven amazons with hockey sticks slung over their shoulders. The fit young men were immediately whisked off for lunch. Members of the Harvard squad never normally drank a drop before a match, but as the girls, without exception, ordered beers, they felt honor-bound to join them. Most of the men managed three cans before lunch and also enjoyed the excellent wine served throughout the meal. None of the Harvard men thought to comment on Radcliffe’s generosity or to ask if they were breaking any college rules. All twenty-two ended the lunch with a glass of champagne to toast the fortunes of both colleges.

The eleven Harvard men were then escorted to their locker room, where they found another magnum of champagne awaiting them. The eleven happy ladies left them to change. When the Harvard captain led his team out onto the hockey field he was met by a crowd of over five hundred spectators and eleven strapping girls whom he had never before seen in his life. Eleven other ladies, not unknown to the captain, were finding it hard to remain awake in the stands. Harvard was down 3–0 by half time and was lucky to lose only 7–0. The Harvard Crimson might well have described Bella as a cheat, but the Boston Globe declared her to be a woman of great enterprise.

The captain of the Harvard team immediately challenged Bella to replay against the full varsity squad. ‘Exactly what I wanted in the first place,’ she told Florentyna. Bella accepted by sending a telegram from one side of Cambridge Common to the other. It read: ‘Your place or mine?’ Radcliffe had to arrange for several cars to transport their supporters, their ranks swelled by Harvard’s decision to put on a dance that evening after the game. Florentyna drove Bella and three other members of the team across the river in her newly acquired 1952 Oldsmobile, with hockey sticks, shin pads and evening dresses piled high in the trunk. When they arrived, they did not meet up with any of the Harvard team before they reached the playing field. This time they were greeted by a crowd of three thousand, which included President Conant of Harvard and President Jordan of Radcliffe.

Bella’s tactics again bordered on the dubious: each of her girls had clearly been instructed to play the man and not to concentrate too much on the ball. Ruthless hacking at vulnerable shins enabled them to hold Harvard to a scoreless first half.

The Radcliffe team nearly scored in the first minute of the second half, which inspired them to rise above their normal game, and it began to look as if the match might end in a draw when the Harvard center forward, a man only slightly smaller than Bella, broke through and looked poised to score. He had reached the edge of the circle when Bella came charging out of her cage and hit him flat out with a shoulder charge. That was the last he remembered of the match and he departed a few seconds later on a stretcher. Both referees blew their whistles at once and a penalty was awarded to Harvard with only a minute to go. Their left wing was selected to take the shot. The five-foot-nine, slimly built man waited for the two teams to line up. He cracked the ball sharply to the right inner, who lofted a shot straight at Bella’s chest pad. It dropped at her feet, and she clicked it to the right, where it rolled in front of the diminutive left wing. Bella charged at the slight figure, and gentle people in the crowd covered their eyes, but this time she had met her match. The left wing sidestepped deftly, leaving the Radcliffe captain spread-eagled on the ground and himself ample time to flick the ball into the back of the net. The whistle blew and Radcliffe lost 1–0.

It was the only occasion on which Florentyna had seen Bella cry, even though the crowd gave her a standing ovation as she led her team off the field. Although defeated, Bella ended up with two compensations: the U.S. Women’s Hockey Team selected her to play for her country, and she had met her future husband.

Florentyna was introduced to Claude Lamont at the reception after the match. He looked even smaller in his neat blue blazer and gray flannel trousers than he had on the field.

‘Little sweetheart, isn’t he?’ said Bella, patting him on the head. ‘Amazing goal.’ Florentyna was surprised that Claude did not seem to object. All he said was ‘Didn’t she play a first-class game?’

Bella and Florentyna returned to their rooms at Radcliffe, where they changed for the dance. Claude accompanied both girls to the affair, which Bella compared to a cattle show as the men swarmed around her old roommate. They all wanted to dance the jitterbug with her, so Claude was dispatched to fetch enough food and drink to feed an army, which Bella disposed of while she watched her friend in a whirl of Trigère silk on the dance floor.

She first saw him sitting talking to a girl in the corner of the room while she was dancing. He must have been about six feet tall, with wavy fair hair and a tan that only proved he did not spend his winter vacations in Cambridge. As she stared, he turned toward the dance floor and their eyes met. Florentyna turned quickly away and tried to concentrate on what her partner was saying — something about America moving into the computer age and how he was going to climb on the bandwagon. When the dance ended, the talkative partner took her back to Bella. Florentyna turned to find him by her side.

‘Have you had something to eat?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she lied.

‘Would you like to join my table?’

‘Thank you,’ she said, and left Bella and Claude discussing the relative merits of the value of wing-to-wing passing, comparing field hockey with ice hockey.

For the first few minutes neither of them spoke. He brought some food over from the buffet and then they both tried to speak at once. His name was Scott Roberts and he was majoring in history at Harvard. Florentyna had read about him in Boston’s society columns, one of the heirs to the Roberts family business and one of the most sought-after young men in America. She wished it were otherwise. What’s in a name? she said to herself as she told him hers. It didn’t seem to register.

‘A pretty name for a beautiful woman,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t met before.’ Florentyna smiled. He added, ‘Actually, I was at Radcliffe a few weeks ago, playing in the infamous hockey game when we lost seven-nothing.’

‘You played in that match? I didn’t notice you.’

‘I’m not surprised. I spent most of the time on the ground feeling sick. I had never drunk so much in my life. Bella Hellaman may look big to you when you’re sober, but she looks like a Sherman tank when you’re drunk.’

Florentyna laughed and sat happily listening to Scott tell stories of Harvard, his family and his life in Boston. For the rest of the evening she danced only with one man and when the night came to an end he accompanied her back to Radcliffe.

‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ Scott asked.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Why don’t we drive out to the country and have lunch together?’

‘I’d like that.’

Florentyna and Bella spent most of that night telling each other about their respective partners.

‘Do you think it matters that he’s straight out of the Social Register?’

‘Not if he’s a man worth taking seriously,’ replied Bella, aware of just how real Florentyna’s fears were. ‘I have no idea if Claude is in any social register,’ she added.

The next morning, Scott Roberts and Florentyna drove out into the countryside in his smart new MG. She had never been happier in her life. They lunched in a little restaurant in Dedham which was full of people whom Scott seemed to know. Florentyna was introduced to a Lowell, a Winthrop, a Cabot and another Roberts. She was relieved to see Edward Winchester coming toward her from a corner table, leading an attractive dark-haired girl by the hand — at least, Florentyna thought, I know someone. She was astonished at how handsome and happy Edward looked and soon found out why, when he introduced his fiancée, Danielle.

‘You two ought to get on famously,’ said Edward.

‘Why?’ asked Florentyna, smiling at the girl.

‘Danielle is French and I’ve been telling her for a long time that I might have been the Dauphin but even when I declared you were a witch, you had to teach me how to pronounce socière.’

As Florentyna watched them depart hand in hand, Scott said quietly, ‘Je n’ai jamais pensé que je tomberais amoureux d’une sorcière.’

Florentyna chose a simple meal of Dover sole and nodded her approval of his selection of Muscadet, grateful for her knowledge of food and wine, and was surprised to find at four o’clock that they were the only two left in the restaurant, with a headwaiter hinting that the time might have come to prepare for the evening meal. When they returned to Radcliffe, Scott kissed her gently on the cheek and said he would call her tomorrow.

He phoned during lunchtime the next day to ask if she could bear to watch him play ice hockey for the junior varsity against Penn on Saturday and suggested dinner together afterward.

Florentyna accepted, masking her delight, for she couldn’t wait to see him again. It seemed the longest week in her life.

On Saturday morning she made one important decision about her weekend with Scott. She packed a small suitcase and put it in the trunk of her car before driving to the rink long before the face-off. She sat in the bleachers, waiting for Scott to arrive. For a moment she feared he might not feel the same way about her when they met for a third time, but he dispelled that fear in a moment when he waved and skated across the ice toward her.

‘Bella said I can’t come home if you lose.’

‘Perhaps I don’t want you to,’ he said, as he glided slantingly away.

She watched the game, becoming colder and colder. Scott hardly seemed to touch the puck all afternoon, but he still managed to get slammed repeatedly into the boards. She decided that it was a stupid sport but that she would not tell him so. After the match was over, she sat in her car waiting for him to change; then another reception and at last they were on their own. He took her to Locke-Ober’s, where again he seemed to know everyone, but this time she did not recognize anybody other than those she had seen in the fashionable magazines. He didn’t notice, as he could not have been more attentive, which helped Florentyna relax. Once more, they were the last to leave, and he drove her back to her car. He kissed her gently on the lips.

‘Would you like to come to lunch at Radcliffe tomorrow?’

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I have a paper to finish in the morning, and I’m not sure I can complete it before two o’clock. You couldn’t bear joining me for tea?’

‘Of course I will, silly.’

‘What a pity. If I had known I would have booked you a room in the guest quarters.’

‘What a pity,’ echoed Florentyna, thinking of the unopened suitcase lying in the trunk of her car.

The next day, Scott picked her up shortly after three and took her back to his rooms for tea. She smiled as he closed the door, remembering that it was still not allowed at Radcliffe. His room was considerably larger than hers and on his desk was a picture of an aristocratic, slightly severe-looking lady who could only have been his mother. As Florentyna took in the room she realized that none of the furniture belonged to Harvard. After he had given her tea they listened to America’s new singing idol, Elvis Presley, before Scott put on Frank Sinatra singing ‘Stranger in Paradise’ and they danced, each wondering what was in the other’s mind. When they sat down on the sofa, he kissed her at first gently, then with passion. He seemed reluctant to go any further and Florentyna was both too shy and too ignorant to help him. Suddenly he placed a hand over her breast as if waiting for Florentyna’s reaction. At last his hand moved to the top of her dress and fumbled with the first button. Florentyna made no attempt to stop him as he continued with the second. Soon he was kissing her, first on the shoulder, then on her breast. Florentyna wanted him so badly that she almost made the next move herself, but quite suddenly, he stood up and took off his shirt. In response she quickly slipped out of her dress and let her shoes fall to the floor. They made their way to the bed, clumsily trying to remove what was left of each other’s clothing. For a moment they stared at each other before climbing onto the bed. To her surprise the pleasure of making love seemed to be over in seconds.

‘I’m sorry, I was awful,’ said Florentyna.

‘No, no, it was me.’ He paused. ‘I might as well admit it, that was my first time.’

‘Not you as well?’ she said, and they both burst out laughing.

They lay in each other’s arms for the rest of the evening and made love twice more, each time with greater pleasure and confidence. When Florentyna woke in the morning, cramped and rather tired but exultantly happy, she felt instinctively they would spend the rest of their lives together. For the remainder of that term they saw each other every weekend, and sometimes during the week as well.

In the spring vacation, they met secretly in New York, and Florentyna spent the happiest three days she could remember. On the Waterfront, Limelight and, on Broadway, South Pacific preceded the ‘21’ Club, Sardi’s and even the Oak Room at the Plaza. During the day they shopped, visited the Frick and walked through the park. When she returned home at night, her arms were laden with presents, which ended up by the side of her bed.

The spring term was idyllic and they were rarely out of each other’s company. As it drew to a close, Scott invited Florentyna to spend a week in Marblehead to meet his parents.

‘I know they’ll love you,’ he said as he put her on the train to Chicago.

‘I hope so,’ she replied.

Florentyna spent hours telling her mother how wonderful Scott was and how much she was bound to love him. Zaphia was delighted to see her daughter so happy and genuinely looked forward to meeting Scott’s parents. She prayed Florentyna had found someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life, and had not made an impulsive decision that she would later regret. Florentyna selected yards of different-colored silks from Marshall Field’s and passed the evenings designing a dress she felt certain would capture the heart of Scott’s mother.

The letter came on a Monday, and Florentyna immediately recognized Scott’s handwriting. She tore the envelope open in happy anticipation, but it contained only a short note saying that because of a change in his family plans he would have to postpone her trip to Marblehead. Florentyna read the letter again and again, looking for some hidden message. Remembering only how happily they had parted, she decided to call his home.

‘The Roberts residence,’ said a voice that sounded like the butler’s.

‘May I speak to Mr. Scott Roberts?’ Florentyna could hear her voice quiver as she said his name.

‘Who is calling him, ma’am?’

‘Florentyna Rosnovski.’

‘I’ll see if he’s in, ma’am.’

Florentyna clutched on to the phone and waited impatiently for Scott’s reassuring voice.

‘He’s not at home at the moment, ma’am, but I will leave a message saying that you called.’

Florentyna didn’t believe him and an hour later called again.

The voice said, ‘He is still not back, ma’am,’ so she waited until eight that evening, when the same voice announced that he was at dinner.

‘Then please tell him I’m calling.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

The voice returned a few moments later and said perceptibly less politely, ‘He cannot be disturbed.’

‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you’ve told him who it is.’

‘Madam, I can assure you—’ Another voice came on the line, a lady’s, with the ring of habitual authority.

‘Who is this calling?’

‘My name is Florentyna Rosnovski. I was hoping to speak to Scott as—’

‘Miss Ros-en-ovski, Scott is having dinner with his fiancée at the moment and cannot be disturbed.’

‘His fiancée?’ whispered Florentyna, her nails drawing blood from the palm of her hand.

‘Yes, Miss Ros-en-ovski.’ The phone went dead. It took several seconds for the news to sink in; then Florentyna said out loud, ‘Oh, my God, I think I’ll die,’ and fainted.

She woke to find her mother by the side of her bed.

‘Why?’ was Florentyna’s first word.

‘Because he wasn’t good enough for you. The right man won’t allow his mother to select the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.’

When Florentyna returned to Cambridge, matters did not improve. She was unable to concentrate on any serious work and often spent hours on her bed in tears. Nothing Bella could do or say seemed to help and she could devise no better tactic than belittlement. ‘Not the sort of man I would want on my team.’ Other men asked Florentyna for dates, but she didn’t accept any of them. Her father and mother became so worried about her that they even discussed the problem with each other.

Finally, Florentyna came close to failing a course, and her advisor, Miss Rose, warned her that she had a lot of work to do if she still hoped to win her Phi Beta Kappa key. Florentyna remained indifferent. At the beginning of the summer vacation she stayed at home in Chicago accepting no invitations to parties or dinners. She helped her mother choose some new clothes but bought none for herself. She read the details of the ‘society wedding of the year,’ as the Boston Globe referred to the marriage of Scott Roberts to Cynthia Knowles, but it only made her cry again. The arrival of a wedding invitation from Edward Winchester did not help. Later, she tried to remove Scott from her thoughts by going to New York and working unheard-of-hours for her father at the New York Baron. As the vacation drew to a close she dreaded returning to Radcliffe for her final year. No amount of advice from her father or sympathy from her mother seemed to improve matters. They both began to despair when she showed no interest in the preparations for her twenty-first birthday.

It was a few days before Florentyna was due to return to Radcliffe that she saw Edward across Lake Shore Drive. He looked as unhappy as she felt. Florentyna waved and smiled. He waved back but didn’t smile. They stood and stared at each other until Edward crossed the road.

‘How’s Danielle?’ she asked.

He stared at her. ‘Haven’t you heard?’

‘Heard what?’ said Florentyna.

He continued to stare at her as if he couldn’t get out the words. ‘She’s dead.’

Florentyna gazed back at him in disbelief.

‘She was driving too fast, showing off in my new Austin-Healey, and she turned the car over. I lived, she died.’

‘Oh, my God,’ Florentyna said, putting her arms around him. ‘How selfish I’ve been.’

‘No, I knew you had your own troubles,’ said Edward.

‘Nothing compared with yours. Are you going back to Harvard?’

‘I have to. Danielle’s father insisted that I complete my studies. Said he would never forgive me if I didn’t. So now I have something to work for. Don’t cry, Florentyna, because once I start I can’t stop.’

Florentyna shuddered. ‘Oh, my God, how selfish I’ve been,’ she repeated.

‘Come over to Harvard sometime. We’ll play tennis and you can help me with my French verbs. It will be like old times.’

‘Will it?’ she said, wistfully. ‘I wonder.’

Chapter twelve

When Florentyna returned to Radcliffe, she was greeted by a two-hundred-page course catalogue that took her three evenings to digest. From the catalogue she could choose one elective course outside her major area of study. Miss Rose suggested she take up something new, something she might never have another chance to study in depth.

Florentyna had heard, as every other member of the university had, that Professor Luigi Ferpozzi would be spending a year as guest lecturer at Harvard and conducting a seminar once a week. Since winning his Nobel Peace Prize he had roamed the world receiving accolades, and when he was awarded an honorary degree from Oxford the citation described him as the only man whom the Pope and the President were in total agreement with, other than God. The world’s leading authority on Italian architecture had chosen Baroque Rome for his overall subject. ‘City of the Eye and the Mind’ was to be the title of his first lecture. The synopsis in the course catalogue was tempting: Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the artist aristocrat, and Francesco Borromini, the stonecutter’s son, transformed the Eternal City of the Caesars and the Popes into the most recognizable capital in the world. Prerequisites: knowledge of Latin and Italian, with German and French highly recommended. Limited to thirty students.

Miss Rose was not optimistic about Florentyna’s chances of being among the chosen few. ‘They tell me there is already a line from the Widener Library to Boston Common just to see him, not to mention the fact that he is a well-known misogynist.’

‘So was Julius Caesar.’

‘When I was in the common room last night he didn’t treat me like Cleopatra,’ said Miss Rose. ‘But I do admire the fact that he flew with Bomber Command during the Second World War. He was personally responsible for saving half the churches in Italy by seeing that the planes made detours around important buildings.’

‘Well, I want to be one of his chosen disciples,’ said Florentyna.

‘Do you?’ said Miss Rose dryly. ‘Well, if you fail,’ she added, laughing as she scribbled a note for Professor Ferpozzi, ‘you can always sign up for one of those survey courses. They seem to have no limit on numbers.’

‘Rocks for Jocks,’ said Florentyna disparagingly. ‘Not me. I’m off to ensnare Professor Ferpozzi.’

The next morning at eight-thirty, a full hour before the professor was officially available to see anyone that day, Florentyna climbed the marble steps of the Widener Library. Once in the building, she took the elevator — large enough to hold herself and one book — to the top floor, where the senior professors had offices under the eaves. An earlier generation had obviously decided that being far removed from zealous students more than made up for the long climb or the inconvenience of an always occupied elevator.

Once Florentyna had reached the top of the building she found herself standing in front of a frosted door. The name ‘Professor Ferpozzi’ was newly stenciled in black paint on the glass. She recalled that in 1945 it was this man who had sat with President Conant in Munich and between them they had decided the fate of German architecture: what should be preserved and what should be razed. She was only too aware that she shouldn’t bother him for at least another hour. She half turned, intent on retreat, but the elevator had already disappeared to a lower floor. Turning again, she knocked boldly on the door. Then she heard the crash.

‘Whoever that is, go away. You have caused me to break my favorite teapot,’ said an angry voice whose mother tongue could only have been Italian.

Florentyna stifled the impulse to run and instead slowly turned the door knob. She put her head around the door and looked into a room that must have had walls, but there was no way of knowing because books and periodicals were stacked from floor to ceiling as if they had taken the place of bricks and mortar.

In the middle of the clutter stood a professorial figure aged anywhere between forty and seventy. The tall man wore an old Harris tweed jacket and gray flannel trousers that looked as though they had come from a thrift shop or had been inherited from his grandfather. He was holding a brown handle that moments before had been attached to a teapot. At his feet lay a tea bag surrounded by fragments of brown china.

‘I have been in possession of that teapot for over thirty years. I loved it second only to the Pietà, young woman. How do you intend to replace it?’

‘As Michelangelo is not available to sculpt you another, I will have to go to Woolworth’s and buy one.’

The professor smiled despite himself. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, picking up the tea bag but leaving the remains of his teapot on the floor.

‘To enroll in your course,’ Florentyna replied.

‘I do not care for women at the best of times,’ he said, not facing her, ‘and certainly not for one who causes me to break my teapot before breakfast. Do you possess a name?’

‘Rosnovski.’

He turned and stared at her for a moment before sitting at his desk and dropping the tea bag into an ashtray. He scribbled briefly. ‘Rosnovksi, you have the thirtieth place.’

‘But you don’t know my grades or qualifications.’

‘I am quite aware of your qualifications,’ he said ominously. ‘For next week’s group discussion you will prepare a paper on’ — he hesitated for a moment — ‘on one of Borromini’s earlier works, San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane. Good day,’ he added as Florentyna scribbled furiously on her legal pad. Without giving her another thought, he returned to the remains of his teapot.

Florentyna left, closing the door quietly behind her. She walked slowly down the marble steps trying to compose her thoughts. Why had he accepted her so quickly? How could he have known anything about her?

During the following week she spent long days in the crypts of the Fogg Museum poring over learned journals, making slides of the reproductions of Borromini’s plans for San Carlo, even checking his lengthy expense list to see how much the remarkable building had cost. She also found time to visit the china department of Shreve, Crump & Lowe.

When Florentyna had completed the paper, she rehearsed it the night before and felt confident about the outcome, a confidence that evaporated the moment she arrived at Professor Ferpozzi’s seminar. The room was already packed with expectant students and she was horrified to discover that she was the only nongraduate student, the only non-Fine Arts major and the only woman in the course. A projector was placed on his desk facing a large white screen.

‘Ah, the home wrecker returns,’ the professor said, as Florentyna took the one remaining seat in the front. ‘For those of you who have not come across Miss Rosnovski before, do not invite her home for tea.’ He smiled at his own remark and tapped his pipe into an ashtray on the corner of the desk, a sign that he wished the class to commence.

‘Miss Rosnovski,’ he said with confidence, ‘is going to give us a talk on Borromini’s Oratorio di San Filippo Neri.’ Florentyna’s heart sank. ‘No, no.’ He smiled a second time. ‘I am mistaken. It was, if I remember correctly, the Church of San Carlo.’

For twenty minutes Florentyna delivered her paper, showing slides and answering questions. Ferpozzi hardly stirred from behind his pipe, other than to correct her occasional mispronunciation of seventeenth-century Roman coins.

When Florentyna finally sat down, he nodded thoughtfully and declared, ‘A fine presentation of the work of a genius.’ She relaxed for the first time that day as Ferpozzi rose briskly to his feet. ‘Now it is my painful duty to show you the contrast and I want everyone to make notes in preparation for a full discussion next week.’ He shuffled over to the projector and flicked his first slide into place. A building appeared up on the screen behind the professor’s desk. Florentyna stared in dismay at a ten-year-old picture of the Chicago Baron towering above a cluster of elegant small-scale apartment buildings on Michigan Avenue. There was an eerie silence in the room and one or two students were staring at her to see how she reacted.

‘Barbaric, isn’t it?’ Ferpozzi’s smile returned. ‘I am not referring only to the building, which is a worthless piece of plutocratic self-congratulation, but to the overall effect that this edifice has on the city around it. Note the way the tower breaks the eye’s sense of symmetry and balance in order to make certain that it’s the only building we shall look at.’ He flicked a second slide up onto the screen. This time it revealed the San Francisco Baron. ‘A slight improvement,’ he declared, staring into the darkness at his attentive audience, ‘but only because since the earthquake of 1906 the city ordinances in San Francisco do not allow buildings to be more than twenty stories in height. Now let’s travel abroad,’ he continued, turning to face the screen again. Up on the screen came the Cairo Baron, its gleaming windows reflecting the chaos and poverty of the slums huddled on top of each other in the distance.

‘Who can blame the natives for backing the occasional revolution when such a monument to Mammon is placed in their midst while they try to survive in mud hovels that don’t even stretch to electricity?’ Inexorably, the professor produced slides of the Barons in London, Johannesburg and Paris, before saying, ‘I want your critical opinion on all of these monstrosities by next week. Do they have any architectural value, can they be justified on financial grounds and will they ever be seen by your grandchildren? If so, why? Good day.’

Everyone filed out of the professor’s room except Florentyna, who unwrapped the brown paper parcel by her side.

‘I have brought you a farewell present,’ she said, and stood up holding out an earthenware teapot. Just at the moment Ferpozzi opened his hands, she let go and the teapot fell to the ground at his feet and shattered into several pieces.

He stared at the fragments on the floor. ‘I deserved no less,’ he said, and smiled at her.

‘That,’ she rejoined, determined to say her piece, ‘was unworthy of a man of your reputation.’

‘Absolutely right,’ he said, ‘but I had to discover if you had backbone. So many women don’t, you know.’

‘Do you imagine your position allows you—’

He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Next week I shall read your defense of your father’s empire with interest, young woman, and I shall be only too happy to be found wanting.’

‘Did you imagine I would be returning?’ she said.

‘Oh yes, Miss Rosnovski. If you are half the woman my colleagues claim you are, I shall have a battle on my hands next week.’

Florentyna left, just stopping herself from slamming the door behind her.

For seven days she talked with professors of architecture, Boston city planners and international conservationists. She telephoned her father, mother and George Novak before coming to the reluctant conclusion that, although they all had different excuses, Professor Ferpozzi had not exaggerated. She returned to the top of the tower a week later and sat at the back of the room, dreading what her fellow students would have come up with.

Professor Ferpozzi stared at her as she sank into her seat. He then tapped his pipe into an ashtray and addressed the class. ‘You will leave your essays on the corner of my desk at the end of this session, but today I want to discuss the influence of Borromini’s work on European churches during the century after his death.’ Ferpozzi then delivered a lecture of such color and authority that his thirty students hung on every word. When he had finished, he selected a sandy-haired young man in the front row to prepare next week’s paper on Borromini’s first meeting with Bernini.

Once again, Florentyna remained seated while all the other students filed out, leaving their essays on the corner of Ferpozzi’s desk. When they were alone, she handed the professor a brown paper parcel. He unwrapped it to find a Royal Worcester Viceroy teapot in bone china dated 1912. ‘Magnificent,’ he said. ‘And it will remain so as long as no one drops it.’ They both laughed. ‘Thank you, young lady.’

‘Thank you,’ Florentyna replied, ‘for not putting me through any further humiliation.’

‘Your admirable restraint, unusual in a woman, made it clear that it was unnecessary. I hope you will forgive me, but it would have been equally reprehensible not to try to influence someone who will one day control the largest hotel empire in the world.’ Such a thought had never crossed Florentyna’s mind until that moment. ‘Please assure your father that I always stay in a Baron whenever I have to travel. The rooms, the food and the service are quite the most acceptable of any of the major hotels, and there is never anything to complain about once you are inside the hotel looking out. Be sure you learn as much about the stonecutter’s son as I know about the empire builder from Slonim. Being an immigrant is something your father and I will always be proud to have in common. Good day, young lady.’

Florentyna left the office below the eaves of Widener sadly, aware of how little she knew of the workings of her father’s empire.

During that year she concentrated zealously on her modern language studies, but she could always be found on Tuesday afternoons sitting with a pile of books, absorbing Professor Ferpozzi’s lectures. It was President Conant who remarked at the senior dinner that it was sad that his learned colleague was having the kind of friendship with Florentyna that the professor really should have had thirty years before.

Graduation day at Radcliffe was a colorful affair. Proud, smartly dressed parents mingled with professors swathed in the scarlet, purple and multicolored hoods appropriate to their degrees. The academics glided about, resembling a convocation of bishops, informing the visitors how well their offspring had done, sometimes with a little considerate license. In the case of Florentyna there was no need for exaggeration, for she had graduated summa cum laude and had been elected to Phi Beta Kappa earlier in the year.

It was a day of celebration and sadness for Florentyna and Bella, who were to live on opposite sides of the country, one in New York and the other in San Francisco. Bella had proposed to Claude on February 28 — ‘Couldn’t wait for Leap Year,’ she explained — and they had been married in the Houghton chapel at Harvard during the spring vacation. Claude had insisted on, and Bella had agreed to, Love, Honor and Obey. Florentyna realized how lucky they both were when Claude said to her at the reception, ‘Isn’t Bella beautiful?’

Florentyna smiled and turned to Bella, who was remarking that it was sad Wendy was not with them that day.

‘Not that she ever did a day’s work,’ added Bella, grinning.

‘Florentyna could not have worked harder in her final year, and no one will be surprised by her achievements,’ said Miss Rose.

‘I am sure she owes a great deal to you, Miss Rose,’ Abel replied.

‘No, no, but I was hoping to persuade Florentyna to return to Cambridge and study for a Ph.D., and then join the faculty, but she seems to have other ideas.’

‘We certainly do,’ said Abel. ‘Florentyna will be joining the Baron Group as a director, with special responsibilities for the leasing of the shops in the hotels. They have grown out of control in the last few years and I fear I have been neglecting them.’

‘You didn’t tell me that was what you had in mind, Florentyna,’ boomed Bella. ‘I thought you said—’

‘Shhhhh, Bella,’ said Florentyna, putting a finger to her lips.

‘Now, what’s this, young lady? Have you been keeping a secret from me?’

‘Now’s not the time or place, Papa.’

‘Oh, come on, don’t keep us in suspense,’ said Edward. ‘Is it the United Nations or General Motors who feel they cannot survive without you?’

‘I must confess,’ said Miss Rose, ‘now that you have gained the highest credentials this university can award, I should be fascinated to know how you intend to use them.’

‘Hoping to be a Rockette, perhaps,’ said Claude.

‘That’s the nearest anyone has been yet,’ said Florentyna.

Everyone laughed except Florentyna’s mother.

‘Well, if you can’t find a job in New York, you can always come and work in San Francisco,’ said Bella.

‘I’ll bear the offer in mind,’ Florentyna said lightly.

To her relief, further discussion of her future was impossible because the graduation ceremony was about to begin. George Kennan, the former U.S. ambassador to Russia, delivered the graduation address. His speech was received enthusiastically. Florentyna particularly enjoyed the quotation from Bismarck which ended his peroration: ‘Let us leave just a few tasks for our children to perform.’

‘You’ll deliver that address one day,’ said Edward as they passed Tricentennial Hall.

‘And pray, sir, what will be my chosen subject?’

‘The problems of being the first woman President.’

Florentyna laughed. ‘You still believe it, don’t you?’

‘And so do you, even if it will always fall upon me to remind you.’

Edward had been seen regularly with Florentyna during the year, and friends hoped they might soon announce their engagement, but Edward knew that would never be. This was one woman who would always be unattainable, he thought. They were destined to be close friends, never lovers.

After Florentyna had packed her last few belongings and said goodbye to her mother, she checked that she had left nothing in her room and sat on the end of her bed reflecting on her time at Radcliffe. All she had left to show for it was that she had arrived with three suitcases and was leaving with six and a Bachelor of Arts degree. A crimson ice hockey pennant once given to her by Scott was all that remained on the wall. Florentyna unpinned the pennant, held it for a moment, then dropped it into the wastepaper basket.

She sat in the back of the car with her father as the chauffeur drove out of the campus for the last time.

‘Could you drive a little slower?’ she asked.

‘Certainly, ma’am.’

Florentyna turned and stared out of the rear window until the spires of Cambridge were no longer visible above the trees, and there was nothing of her past to see.

Chapter thirteen

The chauffeur brought the Rolls-Royce to a halt at the traffic lights on Arlington Street on the west side of the Public Garden. He waited for the lights to turn green while Florentyna chatted with her father about their forthcoming trip to Europe.

As the lights changed, another Rolls passed in front of them, turning off Commonwealth Avenue. Another graduate and parent were deep in conversation in the back.

‘I sometimes think it would have been better for you to have gone to Yale, Richard,’ she said.

Richard’s mother looked at him approvingly. He already had the fine aristocratic looks that had attracted her to his father over twenty years before, and now he had made it five generations of the family who had graduated from Harvard.

‘Why Yale?’ he asked gently, pulling his mother back from her reminiscences.

‘Well, it might have been healthier for you to get away from the introverted air of Boston.’

‘Don’t let Father hear you say that; he would consider such a suggestion nothing less than treason.’

‘But do you have to return to Harvard Business School, Richard? Surely there must be other business schools?’

‘Like Father, I want to be a banker. If I’m going to follow in his footsteps, Yale isn’t equipped to tie Harvard’s laces,’ he said mockingly.

A few minutes later, the Rolls came to a halt outside a large house on Beacon Hill. The front door opened and a butler stood in the doorway.

‘We have about an hour before the guests arrive,’ said Richard, checking his watch. ‘I’ll go and change immediately. Mother, perhaps we could meet up a little before seven-thirty in the West Room?’ He even sounded like his father, she thought.

Richard bounded up the stairs two at a time; in most houses he could have managed three. His mother followed behind at a more leisurely pace, her hand never once touching the banister.

The butler watched them disappear before returning to the pantry. Mr. Kane’s cousin, Henry Cabot Lodge, would be joining them for dinner, so he wanted to double-check that everything below stairs was perfect.

Richard stood in the shower smiling at the thought of his mother’s concern. He had always wanted to graduate from Harvard and improve on his father’s achievements. He couldn’t wait to enroll at the Business School next fall, although he had to admit he was looking forward to taking Mary Bigelow to Barbados that summer. He had met Mary in the rehearsal rooms of the Music Society and later they were both invited to play in the university string quartet. The pert little lady from Radcliffe played the violin far better than he performed on the cello. When he eventually serenaded the reluctant Mary into bed he found she was again the better tuned, despite her pretense at inexperience. Since those days he had also discovered she was highly strung.

Richard turned the dial to ‘Cold’ for a brief moment before leaping out. He dried and changed into evening dress. He checked himself in the mirror: double-breasted. Richard suspected he would be the only person that night wearing the latest fashion — not that it mattered when you were a little over six feet, slim and dark. Mary had once said that he looked good in everything from jock strap to morning coat.

He went downstairs and waited in the West Room for his mother to join him. When she appeared the butler served them both a drink.

‘Good heavens, are double-breasted suits back in fashion?’ she inquired.

‘You had better believe it. The very latest thing, Mother.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I remember...’

The butler coughed. They both looked around. ‘The Honorable Henry Cabot Lodge,’ he announced.

‘Cabot,’ said Richard’s mother.

‘Kate my dear,’ he replied, before kissing her on the cheek. Kate smiled; her cousin was wearing a double-breasted jacket.

Richard smiled, because it looked twenty years old.

Richard and Mary Bigelow returned from Barbados almost as brown as the natives. They stopped off in New York to have dinner with Richard’s parents, who thoroughly approved of his choice. After all, she was the great-niece of Alan Lloyd, who had succeeded Richard’s grandfather as chairman of the family bank.

Once Richard had returned to the Red House, their Boston residence on Beacon Hill, he quickly settled down and prepared himself for the Business School. Everyone had warned him it was the most demanding course at the university with the largest number of dropouts, but once the term had started, even he was surprised by how little free time he had to enjoy other pursuits. Mary began to despair when he had to relinquish his place in the string quartet and could manage to see her only on weekends.

At the end of the first year she suggested they should return to Barbados and was disappointed to find he intended to stay put in Boston and continue studying.

When Richard returned for his final year he was determined to finish at or near the top of his class, and his father warned him not to relax until after the last exam paper had been completed. His father had added that if he did not make the top 10 percent he needn’t apply for a position at the bank. William Kane would not be accused of nepotism.

At Christmas, Richard rejoined his parents in New York but remained for only three days before returning to Boston. His mother became quite anxious about the pressure he was putting himself under, but Richard’s father pointed out that it was only for another six months. Then he could relax for the rest of his life. Kate reserved her opinion; she hadn’t seen her husband relax in twenty-five years.

At Easter, Richard called his mother to say he ought to remain in Boston during the brief spring vacation, but she managed to convince him he should come down for his father’s birthday. He agreed but added that he would have to return to Harvard the next morning.

Richard arrived at the family home on East Sixty-eighth Street just after four on the afternoon of his father’s birthday. His mother was there to greet him, as were his sisters, Virginia and Lucy. His mother considered he looked drawn and tired, and she longed for his exams to be over. Richard knew that his father would not break his routine at the bank for anyone’s birthday. He would arrive home a few minutes after seven.

‘What have you bought for Daddy’s birthday?’ inquired Virginia.

‘I was waiting for your advice,’ said Richard flatteringly, having quite forgotten about a present.

‘That’s what I call leaving it until the last moment,’ said Lucy. ‘I bought my present three weeks ago.’

‘I know the very thing he needs,’ said his mother. ‘A pair of gloves — his old ones are nearly worn out.’

‘Dark blue, leather, with no pattern,’ said Richard, laughing. ‘I’ll go to Bloomingdale’s right now.’

He strode down Lexington Avenue, falling in with the pace of the city. He was already looking forward to joining his father in the fall, and felt confident that if there were no distractions in the last few months he would come out in that top 10 percent. He would emulate his father and one day be chairman of the bank. He smiled at the thought. He pushed open the doors of Bloomingdale’s, strode up the steps and asked an assistant where he could buy gloves. As he began making his way through the crowded store he glanced at his watch. Plenty of time to be back and change for dinner before his father returned. He looked up at the two girls behind the glove counter. He smiled; the wrong one smiled back.

The smiling girl came quickly forward. She was a honey blonde with a little too much lipstick and one more button undone than Bloomingdale’s could possibly have approved of. Richard couldn’t help admiring such confidence. A small name tag pinned over her left breast read ‘Maisie Luntz.’

‘Can I help you, sir?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Richard. He glanced toward the dark-haired girl. ‘I need a pair of gloves, dark blue, leather, with no pattern,’ he said without letting his eyes return to the blonde.

Maisie selected a pair and put them on Richard’s hands, pushing the leather slowly down each finger and then holding them up for him to admire.

‘If they don’t suit you, you could try another pair.’

‘No, that’s just fine,’ he said. ‘Do I pay you or the other girl?’

‘I can take care of you.’

‘Damn,’ said Richard under his breath. He left reluctantly, determined he would return the next day. Until that afternoon he had considered love at first sight the most ridiculous cliché, fit only for readers of women’s magazines.

His father was delighted with the ‘sensible’ present, as he referred to the gloves over dinner that night, and even more delighted with Richard’s progress at Business School.

‘If you are in the top ten percent I shall be happy to consider offering you a position of trainee at the bank,’ he said for the thousandth time.

Virginia and Lucy grinned. ‘What if Richard comes out number one, Daddy? Will you make him chairman?’ asked Lucy.

‘Don’t be frivolous, my girl. If Richard ever becomes chairman it will be because he will have earned the position after years of dedicated, hard work.’ He turned to his son. ‘Now, when are you returning to Harvard?’

Richard was about to say tomorrow, when he said, ‘I think tomorrow.’

‘Quite right’ was all his father said.

The next day Richard returned not to Harvard, but to Bloomingdale’s, where he headed straight for the glove counter. Before he had any chance of letting the other girl serve him, Maisie pounced; he could do nothing about it except purchase another pair of gloves and return home.

The following morning, Richard returned to Bloomingdale’s for a third time and studied ties on the next counter until Maisie was busy serving a customer and the other girl was free. He then marched confidently up to the counter and waited for her to serve him. To Richard’s horror, Maisie disengaged herself in midsentence from her customer and rushed over while the other girl took her place.

‘Another pair of gloves?’ giggled the blonde.

‘Yes... Yes,’ he said lamely.

Richard left Bloomingdale’s with yet another pair of gloves, dark blue, leather, with no pattern.

The following day he told his father he was still in New York because he had to gather some data from Wall Street to complete a paper. As soon as his father had left for the bank, he headed off to Bloomingdale’s. This time he had a plan for ensuring he spoke to the other girl. He marched up to the glove counter fully expecting Maisie to rush up, when the other assistant came forward to serve him.

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said.

‘Oh, good morning,’ said Richard, suddenly at a loss for words.

‘Can I help you?’

‘No — I mean yes. I would like a pair of gloves,’ he added unconvincingly.

‘Yes, sir. Have you considered dark blue? In leather? I’m sure we have your size — unless we’re sold out.’

Richard looked at the name on her lapel badge: Jessie Kovats. She passed him the gloves. He tried them on. They didn’t fit. He tried another pair and looked toward Maisie. She grinned at him encouragingly. He grinned nervously back. Jessie Kovats handed him another pair of gloves. This time they fit perfectly.

‘I think that’s what you’re looking for,’ said Jessie.

‘No, not really,’ said Richard.

Jessie lowered her voice and said, ‘I’ll go and rescue Maisie. Why don’t you ask her out? I’m sure she’ll say yes.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Richard. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not her I want to take out — it’s you.’

Jessie looked totally surprised.

‘Will you have dinner with me tonight?’

‘Yes,’ she said shyly.

‘Shall I pick you up at your home?’

‘No. Let’s meet at a restaurant.’

‘Where would you like to go?’

Jessie didn’t reply.

‘Allen’s at Seventy-third and Third?’ Richard suggested.

‘Yes, fine’ was all Jessie said.

‘Around eight suit you?’

‘Around eight,’ said Jessie.

Richard left Bloomingdale’s with what he wanted and it wasn’t a pair of gloves.

Richard couldn’t remember a time when he had spent all day thinking about a girl, but from the moment Jessie had said ‘Yes’ he had thought of nothing else.

Richard’s mother was delighted that he had decided to spend another day in New York and wondered if Mary Bigelow was in town. Yes, she decided, when she passed the bathroom and heard Richard singing, ‘Once I had a secret love.’

Richard gave an unusual amount of thought to what he should wear that evening. He decided against a suit, finally selecting a navy-blue blazer and a pair of gray flannel slacks. He also spent a little longer looking at himself in the mirror. Too Ivy League, he feared, but there wasn’t much he could do about that at short notice.

He left the house on Sixty-eighth Street just before seven. It was a crisp, clear evening and he arrived at Allen’s a few minutes after seven-thirty and ordered himself a Budweiser. Every few moments he checked his watch as the minute hand climbed up toward eight o’clock, and then every few seconds once it had passed the agreed hour, wondering if he would be disappointed when he saw her again.

He wasn’t.

She stood in the doorway looking radiant in a simple blue dress that he assumed had come from Bloomingdale’s, though any woman would have known it was a Ben Zuckerman. Her eyes searched the room. At last she saw Richard walking toward her.

‘I am sorry to be late—’ she began.

‘It’s not important. What’s important is that you came.’

‘You thought I wouldn’t?’

‘I wasn’t sure,’ Richard said, smiling. They stood staring at each other. ‘I’m sorry I don’t know your name,’ he said, not wanting to admit he had seen it every day at Bloomingdale’s.

She hesitated. ‘Jessie Kovats. And yours?’

‘Richard Kane,’ he said, offering her his hand. She took it and he found himself not wanting to let go.

‘And what do you do when you’re not buying gloves at Bloomingdale’s?’ asked Jessie.

‘I’m at Harvard Business School.’

‘I’m surprised they didn’t teach you that most people only have two hands.’

He laughed, already delighted that it wasn’t going to be her looks alone that would make the evening memorable.

‘Shall we sit down?’ suggested Richard, taking her arm and leading her to his table.

Jessie began to study the menu on the blackboard.

‘Salisbury steak?’ she inquired.

‘A hamburger by any other name,’ said Richard.

She laughed and he was surprised that she had picked up his out-of-context quotation so quickly, and then felt guilty, because as the evening progressed it became obvious that she had seen more plays, read more novels and even attended more concerts that he had. It was the first time in his life he regretted his single-minded dedication to studying.

‘Do you live in New York?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said as she sipped the third coffee Richard had allowed the waiter to pour. ‘With my parents.’

‘Which part of town?’ he asked.

‘East Fifty-seventh Street,’ Jessie replied.

‘Then let’s walk,’ he said, taking her hand.

Jessie smiled her agreement and they zigzagged back across town on their stroll toward Fifty-seventh Street. To prolong their time together, Richard stopped to gaze into store windows he would normally have passed on the trot. Jessie’s knowledge of fashion and shop management was daunting. Richard felt sorry that she had not been able to finish her education but had left school at sixteen to work in the Baron Hotel before going on to work at Bloomingdale’s.

It took them nearly an hour to cover the sixteen blocks from the restaurant. When they reached Fifty-seventh Street, Jessie stopped outside a small, old apartment house.

‘This is where my parents live,’ she said. He held on to her hand.

‘I hope you will see me again,’ said Richard.

‘I’d like that,’ said Jessie, not sounding very enthusiastic.

‘Tomorrow?’ asked Richard diffidently.

‘Tomorrow?’ queried Jessie.

‘Yes. Why don’t we go to the Blue Angel and see Bobby Short?’ He took her hand again. ‘It’s a little more romantic than Allen’s.’

Jessie seemed uncertain, as if the request was causing her a problem.

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ he added.

‘I’d love to,’ she said in a whisper.

‘I’m having dinner with my father, so why don’t I pick you up around ten o’clock?’

‘No, no,’ said Jessie. ‘I’ll meet you there. It’s only two blocks away.’

‘Ten o’clock then.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. It was the first time he was aware of a delicate perfume. ‘Good night, Jessie,’ he said, and walked away.

Richard began to whistle Dvorak’s Cello Concerto and by the time he arrived home, he had reached the end of the first movement. He couldn’t recall an evening he had enjoyed more. He fell asleep thinking about Jessie instead of Galbraith or Friedman. The next morning he traveled with his father down to Wall Street and spent a day in the Journal’s library, taking only a short break for lunch. In the evening, over dinner, he told his father about the research he had been doing on the stock exchange into reverse takeover bids and feared he might have sounded a little too enthusiastic.

After dinner he went off to his room. He made sure that no one saw him slip out of the front door a few minutes before ten. Once he had reached the Blue Angel he checked his table and returned to the foyer to wait for Jessie.

He could feel his heart beating and wondered why that had never happened with Mary Bigelow. When Jessie arrived, he kissed her on the cheek and led her into the lounge. Bobby Short’s voice was floating through the room: ‘ “Are you telling me the truth or am I just another lie?” ’

As Richard and Jessie walked in, Short raised his arm. Richard found himself acknowledging the wave although he had seen the artist only once before and had never been introduced to him.

They were guided to a table in the center of the room and Jessie chose the seat with her back to the piano.

Richard ordered a bottle of Chablis and asked Jessie about her day.

‘Richard, there is something I must—’

‘Hi, Richard.’ He looked away.

‘Hi, Steve. May I introduce Jessie Kovats — Steve Mellon. Steve and I were at Harvard together.’

‘Seen the Yankees lately?’ asked Steve.

‘No,’ said Richard. ‘I only follow winners.’

‘Like Eisenhower. With his handicap you would have thought he had been to Yale.’ They chatted on for a few minutes. Jessie made no effort to interrupt them. ‘Ah, she’s arrived at last,’ said Steve, looking toward the door. ‘See you, Richard. Nice to have met you, Jessie.’

During the evening Richard told Jessie about his plans to come to New York and work at Lester’s, his father’s bank. She was such an intent listener he only hoped he hadn’t been boring her. He enjoyed himself even more than the previous night and when they left he waved to Bobby Short as if they had grown up together. When they reached Jessie’s home he kissed her on the lips for the first time. For a moment she responded, but then she said ‘Good night’ and disappeared into the old apartment building.

The next morning he returned to Boston. As soon as he arrived back at the Red House he phoned Jessie: Was she free to go to a concert on Friday? She said she was, and for the first time in his life he crossed days off a calendar. Mary phoned him later in the week and he tried to explain to her as gently as he could why he was no longer available.

When the weekend came it was memorable. The New York Philharmonic, Dial M for Murder — Jessie even seemed to enjoy the New York Knicks. Richard reluctantly returned to Harvard on Sunday night. The next four months were going to be long weeks and short weekends. He phoned Jessie every day and they were rarely apart on weekends. He began to dread Mondays.

During the Monday morning lecture on the crash of 1929, Richard found he couldn’t concentrate. How was he going to explain to his father that he had fallen in love with a girl who worked behind the gloves, scarves and woolen hats counter at Bloomingdale’s? Even he couldn’t understand why such a bright, attractive girl could be so unambitious. If only Jessie had been given the opportunities he had had... He scribbled her name on the top of his class notes. His father was going to have to learn to live with it. He stared at what he had written: ‘Jessie Kane.’

When Richard arrived back in New York that weekend, he made an excuse to his mother about running out of razor blades. His mother suggested that he use his father’s.

‘No, no, it’s all right,’ said Richard. ‘I need some of my own. In any case, we don’t use the same brand.’

Kate Kane thought this was strange because she knew they did.

Richard almost ran the eight blocks to Bloomingdale’s. When he reached the glove counter, Jessie was nowhere to be seen. Maisie was standing in a corner filing her fingernails.

‘Is Jessie around?’ he asked her breathlessly.

‘No, she’s already gone home — she left a few minutes ago. She can’t have gone far. Aren’t you...?’

Richard ran out to Lexington Avenue. He searched for Jessie’s face among the figures hurrying along. He would have given up if he hadn’t recognized the flash of red, a scarf he had given her. She was on the other side of the street, turning toward Fifth Avenue. Her apartment was in the opposite direction; somewhat guiltily he decided to follow her. When she reached Scribner’s at Forty-eighth Street, he stopped and watched her go into the bookshop. If she wanted something to read, surely she could have picked it up at Bloomingdale’s? He was puzzled. He peered through the window as Jessie talked to a sales clerk, who left her for a few moments and then returned with two books. He could just make out their titles: The Affluent Society by John Kenneth Galbraith and Inside Russia Today by John Gunther. Jessie signed for them — which surprised Richard — and left as he ducked around the corner.

‘Who is she?’ said Richard out loud as he watched her double back and enter Bendel’s. The doorman saluted respectfully, leaving a distinct impression of recognition. Once again Richard peered through the window to see saleswomen fluttering around Jessie with more than casual respect. An older lady appeared with a package, which Jessie had obviously been expecting. She opened it to reveal a full-length evening dress in red. Jessie smiled and nodded as the saleslady placed the dress in a brown and white box. Then mouthing the words ‘Thank you,’ Jessie turned toward the door without even signing for her purchase. Richard barely managed to avoid colliding with her as she hastened out of the store to jump into a cab.

He grabbed a taxi that an old lady had originally thought was hers and told the driver to follow Jessie’s cab. ‘Like the movies, isn’t it?’ said the driver. Richard didn’t reply. When the cab passed the small apartment house outside of which Richard and Jessie normally parted, he began to feel queasy. The taxi in front continued for another hundred yards and came to a halt outside a dazzling new apartment house complete with a uniformed doorman, who was quick to open the door for Jessie. With astonishment and anger Richard jumped out of his cab and started to make his way up to the door through which she had disappeared.

‘That’ll be ninety-five cents, fella,’ said a voice behind him.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Richard. He thrust his hand into his pocket and took out a note, hurriedly pushing it at the cab driver, not thinking about the change.

‘Thanks, buddy,’ said the driver, clutching on to the five-dollar bill. ‘Someone sure is happy today.’

Richard hurried through the door of the building and managed to catch Jessie at the elevator. He followed her into the elevator. She stared at him but didn’t speak.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Richard as the elevator door closed. The other two occupants stared in front of them with a look of studied indifference as the elevator glided up to the second floor.

‘Richard,’ she stammered. ‘I was going to tell you everything this evening. I never seemed to find the right opportunity.’

‘Like hell you were going to tell me,’ he said, following her out of the elevator toward an apartment. ‘Stringing me along with a pack of lies for nearly three months. Well, now the time has come for the truth.’

He pushed his way past her brusquely as she opened the door. He looked beyond her into the apartment while she stood helplessly in the passageway. At the end of the entrance hall there was a large living room with a fine Oriental rug and a magnificent Georgian bureau. A handsome grandfather clock stood opposite a side table on which there was a bowl of fresh anemones. The room was impressive even by the standards of Richard’s own home.

‘Nice place you’ve got yourself for a salesgirl,’ he said sharply. ‘I wonder which of your lovers pays for this.’

Jessie took a pace toward him and slapped him so hard that her own palm stung. ‘How dare you?’ she said. ‘Get out of my home.’

As she said the words, she started to cry. Richard took her in his arms.

‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That was a terrible thing to suggest. Please forgive me. It’s just that I love you so much and imagined I knew you so well, and now I find I don’t know a thing about you.’

‘Richard, I love you too and I’m sorry I hit you. I didn’t want to deceive you, but there’s no one else — I promise you that.’ She touched his cheek.

‘It was the least I deserved,’ he said as he kissed her.

Clasped tightly in one another’s arms, they sank onto the sofa and for some moments remained almost motionless. Gently he stroked her hair until her tears subsided. Jessie slipped her fingers through the gap between his two top shirt buttons.

‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ she asked quietly.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I want to stay awake with you all night.’

Without speaking further, they undressed and made love, gently and shyly at first, afraid to hurt each other, desperately trying to please. Finally, with her head on his shoulder, they talked.

‘I love you,’ said Richard. ‘I have since the first moment I saw you. Will you marry me? Because I don’t give a damn who you are, Jessie, or what you do, but I know I must spend the rest of my life with you.’

‘I want to marry you too, Richard, but first I have to tell you the truth.’

She pulled Richard’s jacket over her naked body as he lay silent waiting for her to speak.

‘My name is Florentyna Rosnovski,’ she began, and then told Richard everything about herself. Florentyna explained why she had taken the name of Jessie Kovats — so that she would be treated like any other salesgirl while she learned the trade, and not like the daughter of the Chicago Baron. Richard never spoke once during her revelation and remained silent when she came to the end.

‘Have you stopped loving me already?’ she asked. ‘Now that you know who I really am?’

‘Darling,’ said Richard very quietly. ‘My father hates your father.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that the only time I ever heard your father’s name mentioned in his presence, he flew completely off the handle, saying your father’s sole purpose in life seemed to be a desire to ruin the Kane family.’

‘What? Why?’ said Florentyna, shocked. ‘I’ve never heard of your father. How do they even know each other? You must be mistaken.’

‘I wish I were,’ said Richard, and he repeated the little his mother had once told him about the quarrel with her father.

‘Oh, my God. That must have been the “Judas” my father referred to when he told how he changed banks after twenty years,’ she said. ‘What shall we do?’

‘Tell them the truth,’ said Richard. ‘That we met innocently, fell in love and now we’re going to be married. And that nothing they can do will stop us.’

‘Let’s wait for a few weeks,’ said Florentyna.

‘Why?’ asked Richard. ‘Do you think your father can talk you out of marrying me?’

‘No, Richard,’ she said, touching him gently as she placed her head back on his shoulder. ‘Never, my darling. But let’s find out if we can do anything to break the news gently before we present them both with a fait accompli. Anyway, maybe they won’t feel as strongly as you imagine. After all, you said the problem with the Richmond Group was over twenty years ago.’

‘They still feel every bit as strongly, I promise you that. My father would be outraged if he saw us together, let alone thought we were considering marriage.’

‘All the more reason to leave it for a little before we break the news to them. That will give us time to decide the best way to go about it.’

He kissed her again. ‘I love you, Jessie.’

‘Florentyna.’

‘That’s something else I’m going to have to get used to,’ he said.

To begin, Richard allocated one afternoon a week to researching the feud between the two fathers, but after a time it became an obsession, biting heavily into his attendance at lectures. The Chicago Baron’s attempt to get Richard’s father removed from his own board would have made a good case study for the Harvard Business School. The more he discovered, the more Richard realized that his father and Florentyna’s were formidable rivals. Richard’s mother spoke of the feud as if she had needed to discuss it with someone for years.

‘Why are you taking such an interest in Mr. Rosnovski?’ she said.

‘I came across his name when I was going through some back copies of The Wall Street Journal.’ The truth, he thought, but a lie.

Florentyna took a day off from Bloomingdale’s and flew to Chicago to tell her mother what had happened. When Florentyna pressed her as to what she knew of the row she spoke for almost an hour without interruption. Florentyna hoped her mother was exaggerating, but a few carefully worded questions over dinner with George Novak made it painfully obvious that she hadn’t been.

Every weekend the two lovers exchanged their knowledge, which only added to the catalogue of hate.

‘It all seems so petty,’ said Florentyna. ‘Why don’t they just meet and talk it over? I think they would get on rather well together.’

‘I agree,’ said Richard. ‘But which one of us is going to try telling them that?’

‘Both of us are going to have to, sooner or later.’

As the weeks passed, Richard could not have been more attentive and kind. Although he tried to take Florentyna’s mind off ‘sooner or later’ with regular visits to the theater, the New York Philharmonic and long walks through the park, their conversation always drifted back to their parents.

Even during a cello recital that Richard gave her in her flat, Florentyna’s mind was occupied by her father: how could he be so obdurate? As the Brahms sonata came to an end Richard put down his bow and stared into her gray eyes.

‘We have got to tell them soon,’ he said, taking her in his arms.

‘I know we must. I just don’t want to hurt my father.’

‘I know.’

She looked down at the floor. ‘Next Friday, Papa will be back from Washington.’

‘Then it’s next Friday,’ said Richard quietly, not letting her go.

As Florentyna watched Richard drive away that night she wondered if she would be strong enough to keep her resolve.

On the Friday they both dreaded, Richard ducked his morning lecture and traveled down to New York in time to spend the rest of the day with Florentyna.

They spent that afternoon going over what they would say when they respectively faced their parents. At seven o’clock the two stepped out of Florentyna’s apartment onto the pavement of Fifty-seventh Street. They walked without talking. When they reached Park Avenue they stopped at the light.

‘Will you marry me?’

It was the last question on Florentyna’s mind as she braced herself to meet her father. A tear trickled down her cheek, a tear that she felt had no right to be there at the happiest moment of her life. Richard took a ring out of a little red box — a sapphire set in diamonds. He placed it on the third finger of her left hand. He tried to stop the tears by kissing her. He and Florentyna broke and stared at each other for a moment. Then he turned and strode away.

They had agreed to meet again at the apartment as soon as their ordeal was over. She stared at the ring on her finger, and at the antique ring on her right hand, her favorite of the past.

As Richard walked up Park Avenue he went over the sentences he had so carefully composed in his mind and found himself on Sixty-eighth Street long before he felt he had completed the rehearsal.

He found his father in the drawing room drinking the usual Teacher’s and soda before changing for dinner. His mother was complaining that his sister didn’t eat enough. ‘I think Virginia plans to be the thinnest thing in New York.’ Richard wanted to laugh.

‘Hello, Richard, I was expecting you earlier.’

‘Yes,’ said Richard. ‘I had to see someone before I came home.’

‘Who?’ said his mother, not sounding particularly interested.

‘The woman I am going to marry.’

They both looked at him astonished; it certainly wasn’t the opening sentence Richard had planned so carefully.

His father was the first to recover. ‘Don’t you think you’re a bit young? I feel sure you and Mary can afford to wait a little longer.’

‘It’s not Mary I intend to marry.’

‘Not Mary?’ said his mother.

‘No,’ said Richard. ‘Her name is Florentyna Rosnovski.’

Kate Kane turned white.

‘The daughter of Abel Rosnovski?’ William Kane said without expression.

‘Yes, Father,’ said Richard firmly.

‘Is this some sort of joke, Richard?’

‘No, Father. We met in unusual circumstances and fell in love without either of us realizing there was a misunderstanding between our parents.’

‘Misunderstanding? Misunderstanding?’ he repeated. ‘Don’t you realize that jumped-up Polish immigrant spends most of his life trying to get me thrown off my own board — and once nearly succeeded? And you describe that as a “misunderstanding.” Richard, you will never see the daughter of that crook again if you hope to sit on the board of Lester’s Bank. Have you thought about that?’

‘Yes, Father, I have, and it will make no difference to my decision. I have met the woman with whom I intend to spend the rest of my life and I am proud that she would even consider being my wife.’

‘She has tricked and ensnared you so that she and her father can finally take the bank away from me. Can’t you see through their plan?’

‘Even you can’t believe something as preposterous as that, Father.’

‘Preposterous? He once accused me of being responsible for killing his partner, Davis Leroy, when I—’

‘Father, Florentyna knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding your quarrel until she met me. How can you be so irrational?’

‘She has told you she’s pregnant so you will have to marry her.’

‘Father, that was unworthy of you. Florentyna has never put the slightest pressure on me from the moment we met. On the contrary.’ Richard turned to his mother. ‘Won’t you both meet her and then you’ll understand how it came about?’

Kate was going to reply when Richard’s father shouted, ‘No. Never,’ and turning to his wife, he asked her to leave them alone. As she left, Richard could see that she was weeping.

‘Now listen to me, Richard. If you marry the Rosnovski girl I will cut you off without a penny.’

‘You suffer like generations of our family, Father, from imagining money can buy everything. Your son is not for sale.’

‘But you could marry Mary Bigelow — such a respectable girl, and from our own background.’

Richard laughed. ‘Someone as wonderful as Florentyna couldn’t be replaced by a suitable Brahmin family friend.’

‘Don’t you mention our backgrounds in the same breath as that stupid Polack.’

‘Father, I never thought I would have to listen to such pathetic prejudice from a normally sober person.’

William Kane took a pace toward his son. Richard never flinched. His father stopped in his tracks. ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘You’re no longer a member of my family. Never...’

Richard left the room. As he walked across the hall he became aware that his mother was leaning hunched against the banister. He went to her and took her in his arms. She whispered, ‘I’ll always love you,’ and released him when she heard her husband come into the hall.

Richard closed the front door gently behind him. He was back on Sixty-eighth Street. His only thought was how Florentyna had managed to face her own encounter. He hailed a cab and without looking back directed it to Florentyna’s apartment.

He had never felt so free in his life.

When he reached Fifty-seventh Street he asked the doorman if Florentyna had returned. She hadn’t, so he waited under the canopy, beginning to fear she might not have been able to get away. He was deep in thought and didn’t notice when another cab came to a halt at the curb and the frail figure of Florentyna stepped out. She was holding a tissue to a bleeding lip. She rushed toward him and they quickly went upstairs to the privacy of the apartment.

‘I love you, Richard’ were her first words.

‘I love you, too,’ said Richard, and took her in his arms, holding her tightly as if it would solve their problems.

Florentyna didn’t let go of Richard as he spoke.

‘He threatened to cut me off without a penny if I married you,’ he told her. ‘When will they understand we don’t care a damn about their money? I tried appealing to my mother for support, but even she couldn’t control my father’s temper. He insisted that she leave the room. I’ve never seen him treat my mother that way before. She was weeping, which only made my resolve stronger. I left him in midsentence. God knows, I hope he doesn’t take it out on Virginia and Lucy. What happened when you told your father?’

‘He hit me,’ said Florentyna very quietly. ‘For the first time in my life. I think he’ll kill you if he finds us together. Richard darling, we must get out of here before he discovers where we are, and he’s bound to try the apartment first. I’m so frightened.’

‘No need for you to be frightened. We’ll leave tonight and go as far away as possible and to hell with them both.’

‘How quickly can you pack?’ asked Florentyna.

‘I can’t,’ said Richard. ‘I can never return home now. You pack your things and then we’ll go. I’ve got about a hundred dollars with me and my cello, which is still in the bedroom. How do you feel about marrying a hundred-dollar man?’

‘As much as a salesgirl can hope for, I suppose — and to think I dreamed of being a kept woman. Next you’ll be wanting a dowry.’ Florentyna rummaged in her bag. ‘Well, I’ve got two hundred and twelve dollars and an American Express card. You owe me fifty-six dollars, Richard Kane, but I’ll consider repayment at a dollar a year.’

‘I think I like the idea of a dowry better,’ said Richard.

In thirty minutes Florentyna was packed. Then she sat down at her desk, scrawled a note to her father explaining she would never be willing to see him again unless he would accept Richard. She left the envelope on the table by the side of her bed.

Richard hailed a cab. ‘Idlewild,’ he said after placing Florentyna’s three suitcases and his cello in the trunk.

Once they had reached the airport Florentyna made a phone call. She was relieved when it was answered. When she told Richard the news, he reserved a flight.

The American Airlines Super Constellation 1049 taxied out onto the runway to start its seven-hour flight.

Richard helped Florentyna with her seat belt. She smiled at him.

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

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

‘You’ll live to regret your actions tonight.’

He didn’t reply immediately, but just sat motionless, staring in front of him. Then all he said was ‘You will never contact him again.’

She left the room without replying.

He sat alone in a crimson leather chair; time was suspended. He didn’t hear the phone ring several times. The butler knocked quietly on the door and entered the room.

‘A Mr. Abel Rosnovski on the line, sir. Are you in?’

William Kane felt a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach. He knew he had to take the call. He rose from his chair and only by a supreme effort stopped himself from collapsing back into it. He walked over to the phone and picked it up.

‘William Kane speaking.’

‘This is Abel Rosnovski.’

‘Indeed, 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 downfall of my bank.’

‘Don’t be such a damn...’ Abel checked himself before continuing. ‘I want this marriage stopped every bit as much as you do. I never tried to take away your son. I only learned of his 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 Kane.

‘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 girl rather than help?’

William Kane hung up the phone and walked back to the leather chair.

The butler returned. ‘Dinner is served, sir.’

‘No dinner, and I’m not at home.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the butler, and left the room.

William Kane sat alone. No one disturbed him until eight o’clock the next morning.

Chapter fourteen

When flight 1049 landed at San Francisco’s International Airport, Florentyna hoped it hadn’t been too short notice. Richard had hardly placed a foot on the tarmac when he saw a massive woman charge toward them and throw her arms around Florentyna. Florentyna still couldn’t get her arms around Bella.

‘You don’t give a girl much time, do you? Calling just as you’re boarding the plane.’

‘I’m sorry, Bella, I didn’t know until—’

‘Don’t be silly. Claude and I had been grumbling that we didn’t have anything to do this evening.’

Florentyna laughed and introduced the two of them to Richard.

‘Is that all the luggage you have?’ queried Bella, staring down at the three suitcases and the cello.

‘We had to leave in rather a hurry,’ explained Florentyna.

‘Well, there’s always been a home for you here,’ said Bella, immediately picking up two of the suitcases.

‘Thank God for you, Bella. You haven’t changed a bit,’ said Florentyna.

‘I have in one respect. I’m six months pregnant. It’s just that I’m like a giant panda — nobody’s noticed.’

The two girls dodged in and out of the airport traffic to the parking lot with Richard carrying the cello and Claude following in their wake. During the journey into San Francisco, Bella revealed that Claude had become an associate in the law firm of Pillsbury, Madison and Sutro.

‘Hasn’t he done well?’ she said.

‘And Bella’s the senior physical education teacher at the local high school and they haven’t lost a hockey game since she joined them,’ said Claude with equal pride.

‘And what do you do?’ said Bella, prodding a finger into Richard’s chest. ‘From your luggage I can only assume that you’re an out-of-work musician.

‘Not exactly,’ said Richard, laughing. ‘I’m a would-be banker, and I shall be looking for a job tomorrow.’

‘When are you getting married?’

‘Not for three weeks at least,’ said Florentyna. ‘I want to be married in a church and they’ll have to read the banns first.’

‘So you’ll be living in sin,’ declared Claude as he drove past the ‘San Francisco Welcomes Careful Drivers’ sign. ‘Quite the modern couple. I always wanted to, but Bella wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘And why did you leave New York so suddenly?’ asked Bella, ignoring Claude’s comment.

Florentyna explained how she had met Richard and the historic feud that existed between their fathers. Bella and Claude listened incredulously to the story, both remaining unusually silent, until the car came to a halt.

‘This is our home,’ said Claude. He put the brakes on firmly and left the car in first gear.

Florentyna got out on the side of a steep hill not quite overlooking the bay.

‘We go higher up the hill when Claude becomes a partner,’ said Bella. ‘But this will have to do for now.’

‘It’s fantastic,’ said Florentyna as they entered the little house. She smiled when she saw hockey sticks in the umbrella stand.

‘I’ll take you straight to your room so you can unpack.’ Bella led her two guests up a small winding staircase to the spare room on the top floor. ‘It may not be the Presidential Suite at the Baron, but it’s better than joining the beatniks on the streets.’

It was some weeks before Florentyna discovered that Bella and Claude had spent the afternoon lugging their double bed up the stairs to the spare room and carrying the two singles back down so that Richard and Florentyna could spend their first night together.

It was 4 A.M. New York time when Florentyna and Richard finally climbed into bed.

‘Well, now that Grace Kelly is no longer available, I suppose I’m stuck with you. Although I don’t know, I think Claude may be right. Perhaps we should live in sin.’

‘If you and Claude lived together in sin, no one in San Francisco would even notice.’

‘Any regrets so far?’

‘Yes. I always hoped I’d end up with a man who slept on the left-hand side of the bed.’

In the morning, after a Bella-type breakfast, Florentyna and Richard scoured the papers for jobs.

‘We must try and find something quickly. I don’t think our money will last for more than about a month,’ said Florentyna.

‘It may be easier for you. I can’t believe that many banks will offer me a job without a degree or at least a reference from my father.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Florentyna, ruffling his hair. ‘We can beat both our fathers.’

Richard turned out to be right. It took Florentyna only three days and her prospective employers one phone call to the personnel director at Bloomingdale’s before she was offered a position at a young fashion shop called Wayout Columbus, which had advertised for a ‘bright sales assistant’ in the Chronicle. It was only another week before the manager realized what a bargain they had picked up.

Richard, on the other hand, plodded around San Francisco from bank to bank. The personnel director always asked him to call back and when he did, there suddenly ‘wasn’t a position available at the present time for someone with his qualifications.’ As the day of the wedding drew nearer, Richard became increasingly anxious.

‘You can’t blame them,’ he told Florentyna. ‘They all do a lot of business with my father and they won’t want to upset him.’

‘Bunch of cowards. Can you think of anyone who has had a row with Lester’s Bank and therefore refuses to deal with them?’

Richard buried his head in his hands and considered the question for a few moments. ‘Only the Bank of America. My father had a quarrel with them once over a stop-loss guarantee which they took rather a long time to honor and it resulted in a considerable loss in interest. He swore he would never do business with them again. It’s worth a try — I’ll give them a call tomorrow.’

When the manager interviewed him the next day he asked if the reason Richard had applied to work at the Bank of America was the well-known disagreement with his father.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Richard.

‘Good, then we have something in common. You will start on Monday as a junior teller, and if you are indeed the son of William Kane I don’t imagine you will stay in that position for long.’

On the Saturday of their third week in San Francisco, Richard and Florentyna were married in a simple ceremony at St. Edward’s Church on California Street. Father O’Reilly — accompanied by Florentyna’s mother — flew in from Chicago to conduct the service. Claude gave the bride away and then ran around to Richard’s side to be best man while Bella was the matron of honor, gargantuan in a pink maternity smock. The six celebrated that night with a dinner at DiMaggio’s on Fisherman’s Wharf. Florentyna’s and Richard’s combined weekly salaries didn’t cover the final bill, so Zaphia came to the rescue.

‘If you four want to eat out again,’ added Zaphia, ‘just give me a call and I’ll be out on the next plane.’

Bride and groom crept into bed at one o’clock in the morning.

‘I never thought I would end up married to a bank teller.’

‘I never thought I would end up married to a shop assistant, but sociologically it ought to make an ideal partnership.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t end with sociology,’ said Florentyna as Richard turned off the light.

Abel tried every means at his disposal to discover where Florentyna had disappeared. After days of phone calls, telegrams and even attempts to involve the police, he realized he had only one lead left open. He dialed a number in Chicago.

‘Hello,’ said a voice every bit as cold as William Kane’s.

‘You must know why I’m calling.’

‘I can guess.’

‘How long have you known about Florentyna and Richard Kane?’

‘About three months. Florentyna flew up to Chicago and told me all about him. Later I met Richard at the wedding. She didn’t exaggerate. He’s a rare man.’

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

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘Find out for yourself.’ The line went dead. Someone else who didn’t want to help.

On the desk in front of him lay an unopened file giving details of his forthcoming trip to Europe. He flicked over the pages. Two airplane tickets, two reservations in London, Edinburgh and Cannes. Two opera tickets, two theater tickets, but now only one person was going. Florentyna would not be opening the Edinburgh Baron or the Cannes Baron.

He sank into a fitful sleep from which he didn’t want to be wakened. George found him slumped at his desk at eight o’clock the next morning.

He promised Abel that by the time he had returned from Europe, he would have located Florentyna, but Abel now realized — after reading Florentyna’s letter again and again — that even if he did, she would not agree to see him.

Chapter fifteen

‘I would like to borrow thirty-four thousand dollars,’ said Florentyna.

‘What do you need the money for?’ said Richard coldly.

‘I want to take a lease on a building on Nob Hill to open a fashion shop.’

‘What are the terms of the lease?’

‘Ten years, with an option to renew.’

‘What security can you offer against the loan?’

‘I own three thousand shares in the Baron Group.’

‘But that’s a private company,’ said Richard, ‘and the shares are in effect worthless as they can’t be traded over the counter.’

‘But the Baron Group is worth fifty million dollars of anybody’s money, and my shares represent one percent of the company.’

‘How did you come into possession of these shares?’

‘My father is the chairman of the company and he gave them to me on my twenty-first birthday.’

‘Then why don’t you borrow the money direct from him?’

‘Oh, hell,’ said Florentyna. ‘Will they be that demanding?’

‘I’m afraid so, Jessie.’

‘Are all bank managers going to be as tough as you? They never treated me like this in Chicago.’

‘That’s because they had the security of your father’s account. Anyone who doesn’t know you is not going to be as accommodating. A loan manager has to consider that every new transaction will not be repaid, so unless his risk is covered twice over, it’s his job that will be on the line. When you borrow money you must always look across the table and consider the other person’s point of view. Everyone who wants to borrow money is sure they are on to a winner, but the manager knows that over fifty percent of the deals put up to him will eventually fail, or at best break even. So the manager has to pick and choose carefully to be certain he can always see a way of retrieving his money. My father used to say that most financial deals saw a return of one percent for the bank, which didn’t allow you the opportunity to make a one hundred percent loss more than once every five years.’

‘That all makes sense, so how do I answer “Why don’t you go to your father”?’

‘Tell the truth. Remember, banking is based on trust, and if they know you’re always being straight with them, they’ll stand by you when you are going through hard times.’

‘You still haven’t answered the question.’

‘You simply say, “My father and I quarreled over a family matter and now I want to succeed in my own right.” ’

‘Do you think that will work?’

‘I don’t know, but if it does, at least you’ll have started with all your cards on the table. Let’s go back over it again.’

‘Must we?’

‘Yes. No one owes you money, Jessie.’

‘I would like to borrow thirty-four thousand dollars.’

‘What do you need the money for?’

‘I would like to take a—’

‘Supper’s ready,’ roared Bella.

‘Rescued,’ said Florentyna.

‘Only until after we’ve eaten. How many banks are you seeing on Monday?’

‘Three. Bank of California, Wells Fargo and Crocker. Why don’t I pop along to the Bank of America and you can simply pass the thirty-four thousand over the counter?’

‘Because there are no coed prisons in America.’

Claude put his head around the door. ‘Hurry up, you two, or there won’t be any left.’

George spent as much time following up leads on Florentyna as he did being managing director of the Baron Group. He was determined to come up with some concrete results before Abel returned from Europe.

George had a little more success in one quarter than Abel. Zaphia was pleased to inform him that she was making regular trips to the Coast to see the happily married couple. It took George only one phone call to a travel agent in Chicago to discover that those trips had been to San Francisco. Within twenty-four hours he had Florentyna’s address and phone number. On one occasion George even managed a brief conversation with his goddaughter, but she was fairly reticent with him.

Henry Osborne made a pretext at wanting to help, but it soon became obvious that he only wished to know what was going on in Abel’s life. He even tried to press George into lending him some more money.

‘You’ll have to wait until Abel returns,’ George told him sharply.

‘I am not sure I can last that long.’

‘I’m sorry, Henry, but I don’t have the authority to sanction personal loans.’

‘Not even to a board member? You may live to regret that decision, George. After all, I know a lot more about how the Group got started than you do, and I am sure there are others who would be willing to pay me well for such information.’

George always arrived at Idlewild Airport thirty minutes early whenever Abel was returning from Europe. He knew the Baron, like any newly appointed director, would be impatient to learn of any developments within the Group. But this time he felt certain that Abel’s opening question would be on a different subject.

As always, Abel was one of the first through Customs and once he and George were seated in the back of the company Cadillac, he wasted no time on small talk.

‘What news?’ he demanded, only too aware that George would know to what he was referring.

‘Some good, some bad,’ said George as he pressed a button by the side window. Abel watched a sheet of glass glide up between the driver and the passenger section of the car. He tapped his finger on the side pane impatiently as he waited. ‘Florentyna continues to be in touch with her mother. She’s living in a small house in San Francisco with some old friends from Radcliffe days.’

‘Married?’

‘Yes.’

Abel didn’t speak for some moments, as if taking in the finality of the statement.

‘And the Kane boy?’ he asked.

‘He’s found a job in a bank. It seems a lot of people turned him down because word got around that he didn’t complete Harvard Business School and his father wouldn’t supply a reference. Not many people were willing to employ him if as a consequence they antagonized William Kane. He was finally hired as a junior teller with the Bank of America, at a salary way 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 been trying to borrow money from several banks.’

‘Why?’ said Abel, sounding worried. ‘Is she in any sort of trouble?’

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

‘How much is she hoping to raise?’

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

Abel considered this piece of news for a moment. ‘See that she gets the money. Make it look as if the transaction is an ordinary bank loan and be sure that it’s not traceable back to me.’ He started tapping on the window again. ‘This must always remain between the two of us, George.’

‘Anything you say, Abel.’

‘And keep me informed of every move she makes, however trivial.’

‘What about Richard Kane?’

‘I’m not interested in him,’ said Abel. ‘Now, what’s the bad news?’

‘Trouble with Henry Osborne again. It seems he owes money elsewhere and I’m fairly certain his only source of income is you. He’s still making threats — about revealing that you condoned bribes in the early days when you had taken over the Group. Says he’s kept all the papers from the first day he met you, when he claims he fixed an extra payment after the fire at the old Richmond in Chicago. He’s telling everyone that he now has a file on you three inches thick.’

‘I’ll deal with Henry in the morning,’ said Abel.

Abel was fully up to date on the Group’s activities when Henry arrived for his private meeting. Abel looked up at him: the heavy drinking and the debts were beginning to take their toll. For the first time, Abel thought Henry looked older than his years.

‘I need a little money to get me through a tricky period,’ said Henry even before they had shaken hands. ‘Been a bit unlucky.’

‘Again, Henry? You should know better at your age. How much do you need this time?’

‘Ten thousand would see me through,’ said Henry.

‘Ten thousand,’ said Abel, spitting out the words. ‘What do you think I am, a gold mine? It was only five thousand last time.’

‘Inflation,’ said Henry, trying to laugh.

‘This is the last time, do you understand me?’ said Abel as he took out his checkbook. ‘Come begging once more and I’ll remove you from the board and turn you out without a penny.’

‘You’re a real friend, Abel. I swear I’ll never come back again — I promise you that. Never again.’ Abel watched Henry take a cigar from the humidor on the table in front of him and light it. George hadn’t done that in twenty years. ‘Thanks, Abel. You’ll never regret your decision.’

Henry sauntered out of the office drawing on the cigar. Abel waited for the door to be closed, then buzzed for George. He appeared moments later.

‘What happened?’

‘I gave in for the last time,’ said Abel. ‘I don’t know why — it cost me ten thousand.’

‘Ten thousand?’ said George, sighing. ‘You can be sure he’ll be back again. I’d be willing to put money on that.’

‘He’d better not,’ said Abel, ‘because I’m through with him. Whatever he’s done for me in the past it’s now quits. Anything new about my girl?’

‘I’ve set up a facility for Florentyna with the Crocker National Bank of San Francisco,’ said George. ‘She has an appointment next Monday with the loan officer. The agreement will appear to her as one of the bank’s ordinary loan transactions, with no special favors. In fact, they’re charging her half a percent more than usual so there can be no reason for her to be suspicious. What she doesn’t know is that the money is covered by your guarantee.’

‘Thanks, George, that’s perfect. I’ll bet you ten dollars she pays off the loan within three years and never needs to go back for another.’

‘That’s not a bet I’m willing to take,’ said George.

Abel laughed. ‘Keep me briefed on everything she’s up to. Everything.’

Florentyna visited three banks the following Monday. The Bank of California showed some interest, Wells Fargo none, and Crocker asked her to call back. Richard was surprised and delighted.

‘What terms did they discuss?’

‘The Bank of California says it would want eight percent and has to hold the deeds of the lease. Crocker wants eight and a half percent, the deeds and my shares in the Baron Group.’

‘Fair terms considering you have no banking history with them, but it will mean you must make a twenty-five percent profit before taxes just to break even.’

‘I’ve worked it all out on paper, Richard, and I think I’ll make thirty-two percent in the first year.’

‘I studied those figures last night, Jessie, and you’re being overly optimistic. You have no hope of achieving that. In fact, I think the company will lose between seven and ten thousand in the first year — so you’ll just have to hope they believe in your long-term future.’

‘That’s exactly what the loan officer said.’

‘When are they going to let you know their decision?’

‘By the end of the week. It’s worse than waiting for exam results.’

‘You’ve done well, Kane,’ said the manager. ‘And I am advising the head office to promote you. What I have in mind—’

The phone buzzed on the manager’s desk. He picked it up and listened.

‘It’s for you,’ he said, surprised, before passing it to Richard.

‘The Bank of California said their loans committee had turned me down, but Crocker said yes. Oh, Richard, isn’t that wonderful?’

‘Yes, ma’am, it’s good news indeed,’ said Richard, avoiding the manager’s eyes.

‘Well, that’s very kind of you to say so, Mr. Kane. Now I also have this sociological problem and I was wondering if you could help in some way.’

‘Perhaps if you were to come around the bank, ma’am, we could discuss it in greater detail.’

‘What a great idea. I’ve always had this fantasy of making love in a bank vault surrounded by money. Lots and lots of Benjamin Franklins staring at me.’

‘I agree with your proposition, ma’am, and I’ll call you and confirm at the first possible opportunity.’

‘Don’t leave it too long or I may decide to move my account.’

‘We always try to be of service at the Bank of America, ma’am.’

‘If you look at my account, there’s not much sign of it.’

The phone clicked.

‘Where are we having the celebration?’ asked Richard.

‘I told you over the phone — in the bank vault.’

‘Darling, when you called I was in private conference with the manager and he was offering me the post of number three in the overseas department.’

‘That’s fantastic. Then it’s a double celebration. Let’s go to Chinatown and have five takeouts and five giant Cokes.’

‘Why five, Jessie?’

‘Because Bella will be joining us. Incidentally, Mr. Kane, I prefer it when you call me ma’am.’

‘No, I think I’ll stick with Jessie. It reminds me how far you’ve come since we met.’

Claude arrived that evening carrying a bottle of champagne under each arm. ‘Let’s open one immediately and celebrate,’ said Bella.

‘Agreed,’ said Florentyna, ‘but what about the other one?’

‘It’s to be saved for some special occasion that none of us could anticipate,’ Claude said firmly.

Richard opened the first bottle and poured out four glasses while Florentyna put the second in the corner of the refrigerator.

She signed the lease for the tiny building on Nob Hill the next day and the Kanes moved into the small apartment above the store. Florentyna, Bella and Richard spent their weekends painting and cleaning while Claude, the most artistic of the four, printed the name ‘Florentyna’s’ in royal blue above the store window. A month later they were ready to open.

During her first week as owner, manager and clerk, Florentyna contacted all the main wholesalers who had dealt with her father in New York. In no time she had a shop full of goods and ninety days’ credit.

Florentyna opened the little store on August 1, 1958. She always remembered the date because just after midnight Bella produced a twelve-pound baby.

Florentyna had sent out a large mailing announcing the opening of the store, choosing the day before the government raised postage stamps from three cents to four. She had also stolen an assistant named Nancy Ching — who had Maisie’s charm but fortunately not Maisie’s IQ — from her old employers, Wayout Columbus. On the morning of the opening, the two girls stood by the door in hopeful anticipation, but only one person came into the store the whole day and all he wanted to know was the way to the Mark Hopkins. The next morning, a young woman came in and spent an hour looking at all the shirts they had in from New York. She tried on several but left without purchasing anything. In the afternoon another lady fussed about for a long time and finally bought a pair of gloves.

‘How much will that be?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Florentyna.

‘Nothing?’ queried the lady.

‘That’s correct. You are the first customer to make a purchase at Florentyna’s and there will be no charge.’

‘How kind of you,’ said the lady. ‘I shall tell all my friends.’

‘You never gave me any gloves when I shopped at Bloomingdale’s, Miss Kovats,’ said Richard that evening. ‘You’ll be bankrupt by the end of the month if you go on like that.’

But this time his judgment proved wrong. The lady turned out to be president of the Junior League in San Francisco and one word from her was worth more than a full-page advertisement in the San Francisco Chronicle.

For the first few weeks Florentyna seemed to be working an eighteen-hour day, for as soon as the doors closed she would check the inventory while Richard went over the books. As the months passed she began to wonder how the little store could ever hope to make a profit.

At the end of her first year they invited Bella and Claude to join in celebrating the loss of $7,380.

‘We’ve got to achieve better results next year,’ said Florentyna firmly.

‘Why?’ said Richard.

‘Because our grocery bills are going to be larger.’

‘Is Bella coming to live with us?’

‘No, I’m pregnant.’

Richard was overjoyed, and his only anxiety was that he couldn’t stop Florentyna from working right up until the day she went into the hospital. They celebrated the end of their second year with a small profit of $2,000 and a large son of nine pounds three ounces. He had only one nipple. The decision on what they would call their firstborn, if it was a boy, had been made weeks before.

George Novak was both shocked and delighted to be chosen godfather for Florentyna’s son. Although he didn’t admit as much, Abel was also pleased, for he welcomed any opportunity to find out what was happening in his daughter’s life.

The day before the christening, George flew out to Los Angeles to check on the progress of the new Baron. Abel was determined to have the building completed by the middle of September in order that John Kennedy could open it while he was on the campaign trail. George then flew on to San Francisco confident that Abel’s deadline would be met.

By nature George took a long time to like people and even longer to trust them, but not so with Richard Kane. He took to him immediately, and once he was able to see for himself what Florentyna had achieved in such a short time, it became obvious that she could not have done it without her husband’s common sense and cautious approach. George intended to leave Abel in no doubt how he felt about the boy.

After a quiet dinner the two men played backgammon at a dollar a point and discussed the christening. ‘Not at all like Florentyna’s was,’ George confided to Richard, who laughed at the thought of his reluctant father-in-law spending a night in jail.

‘You seem to throw doubles all the time,’ said George, sipping the Rémy Martin that Richard had poured for him.

‘My father...,’ said Richard, and then hesitated for a moment, ‘always accused me of being a bad loser if I made any mention of doubles.’

George laughed. ‘And how is your father?’

‘I’ve no idea. There’s been no contact with him since Jessie and I were married.’ George still couldn’t get used to hearing his goddaughter being called Jessie. When he was told the reason why, he knew it would amuse Abel.

‘I’m sorry your father seems to be reacting the same way as Abel,’ said George.

‘I remain in touch with my mother,’ continued Richard, sipping his brandy, ‘but I can see no end to my father’s attitude, especially while Abel continues to try and increase his holding in Lester’s.’

‘Are you sure of that?’ asked George, sounding surprised.

‘Two years ago every banker on Wall Street knew what he was up to.’

‘Abel is now so set in his ways,’ said George, ‘I can’t make him listen to reason. But I don’t believe he will cause any more trouble at the moment,’ he added, before returning to his brandy. Richard didn’t inquire why: he realized that if George wanted to explain he would.

‘You see, if Kennedy wins the election,’ George continued, once he had put his glass down, ‘Abel has an outside chance of a minor appointment in the new administration. I put it no higher than that.’

‘Our ambassador to Poland, no doubt,’ said Florentyna as she came into the room carrying a tray laden with coffee cups. ‘He would be the first Polish immigrant to be so honored. I’ve known about that ambition ever since our trip to Europe.’

George didn’t reply.

‘Is Henry Osborne behind this?’ asked Florentyna.

‘No, he doesn’t even know about it,’ said George, relaxing back in his chair. ‘Your father no longer places any trust in him. Since Henry lost his seat in Congress he has proved unreliable, to say the least, and your father is even considering removing him from the board.’

‘At last Papa woke up to what a nasty piece of work Henry really is.’

‘I think he’s always known, but there’s no denying Henry was useful to your father when he was in Washington. Personally, I think he’s still dangerous despite being removed from Congress.’

‘Why?’ asked Florentyna.

‘Because I suspect he knows too much about the enmity between Abel and Richard’s father, and if he gets into any more debt, I fear he may trade that information with Mr. Kane direct.’

‘Never,’ said Richard.

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked George.

‘You mean after all these years you don’t know?’ Richard asked.

George stared from one to the other. ‘Know what?’

‘Obviously not,’ said Florentyna.

‘You’ll need a double,’ said Richard, and poured George another large brandy before continuing.

‘Henry Osborne hates my father even more than Abel does.’

‘What? Why?’ said George, leaning forward.

‘Henry was married to my grandmother, after my grandfather died.’ Richard poured himself another coffee before continuing. ‘Many years ago when he was a young man, he tried to part my grandmother from a small family fortune soon after my grandfather had died. Osborne didn’t succeed because my father, aged only seventeen, discovered that Henry’s Harvard and military background was nothing more than a front and proceeded to throw him out of his own home.’

‘Omój Jezu!’ said George. ‘I wonder if Abel knows any of this.’ He hadn’t noticed it was his turn to throw the dice.

‘Of course he does,’ said Florentyna. ‘It must have been the deciding factor for employing Henry in the first place. He needed someone on his side who he could be certain would never open his mouth to Kane.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘Pieced it together when Richard discovered I wasn’t Jessie Kovats. Most of the stuff on Henry is in a file locked in the bottom of Papa’s desk.’

‘I thought I was too old to learn so much in one day,’ said George.

‘Your day’s learning hasn’t begun,’ said Richard. ‘Henry Osborne never went to Harvard, never served in the war, and his real name is Vittorio Togna.’

George didn’t speak, just opened his mouth.

‘We also know that Papa has got hold of six percent of Lester’s Bank. Just imagine the problems he could cause if he could lay his hands on another two percent,’ said Florentyna.

‘We suspect he’s trying to buy that two percent from Peter Parfitt, the man who opposed my father when he was proposed for chairman of Lester’s. Abel’s final aim is the removal of my father from his own board,’ Richard added.

‘That may have been right in the past.’

‘Why not now?’ queried Florentyna.

‘Abel won’t become involved with anything as silly as removing your father from the bank while Kennedy has him in mind for Warsaw. So you need have no fear in that direction. And perhaps that might make you consider coming as my guest to see the candidate open the new Baron in Los Angeles?’

‘Is there any hope that Richard will be invited as well?’

‘You know the answer to that, Florentyna.’

‘Another game, George?’ said Richard.

‘No, thank you. I know a winner when I see one.’ He removed his wallet from an inside pocket and handed over eleven dollars. ‘Mind you, I still blame the doubles.’

Chapter sixteen

Nancy Ching had run the store well while Florentyna was away in the hospital, but with Kane junior safely parked in a crib in the back room, Florentyna was only too happy to return to work. She explained to Miss Tredgold when she sent the first photo of them together that she was hoping to be a responsible mother until it became impossible not to employ someone. ‘Not that I’ll find anyone like you outside of Much Hadham,’ she added. During the first two years of their marriage, both she and Richard had concentrated on building their careers. While Florentyna was acquiring her second store, Richard was advancing another rung on the bank ladder.

Florentyna would have liked to spend more time concentrating on fashion trends rather than day-to-day finances, but she felt unable to ask Richard to spend every night on her books after he returned from the bank. She discussed her bold ideas for the future with Nancy, who was a little skeptical about placing so many orders for small women’s sizes.

‘It may suit me’ — the petite Chinese girl grinned — ‘but not most American women.’

‘I don’t agree. Small is going to be beautiful and we must be the first to anticipate it. If American women think it’s the trend, we are going to witness a skinny revolution the like of which will even make you look fat.’

Nancy laughed. ‘Looking at your future orders for fours and sixes, you’d better be right.’

Neither Richard nor Florentyna brought up the vexing subject of their families after George’s visit since they both despaired of any reconciliation. They both spoke to their mothers on the phone from time to time, and although Richard received letters from his two sisters, he was particularly sad that he was not invited to attend Virginia’s wedding. This unhappy state of affairs might have drifted on indefinitely had it not been for two events. The first was hard to avoid, while the second was caused when the wrong person picked up the phone.

The first occurred because it was Los Angeles’ turn to open a Baron. Florentyna followed its progress with great interest while she was preparing to open her third store. The new hotel was completed in September 1960 and Florentyna took the afternoon off to watch Senator John Kennedy perform the opening ceremony. She stood at the back of a large crowd that had come to see the candidate while she kept an eye on her father. He seemed to her a lot older and had certainly put on weight. From those who were surrounding him it was obvious that he was now well connected in Democratic circles. If Kennedy was elected, she wondered, would her father be offered the chance to serve under him. Florentyna was impressed by the competent speech of welcome Abel made, but she was mesmerized by the young Presidential candidate who seemed to her to embody the new America. After she had heard him, she passionately wanted John Kennedy to be the next President. As soon as the speech was over, she left the newly opened Baron resolved to give time in San Francisco and send money to the Ninth District of Illinois for the Kennedy campaign, although she suspected that her father had already contributed a sum that would make her own efforts appear minuscule. Richard remained unshakably Republican and a supporter of Nixon.

‘No doubt you remember what Eisenhower said when he was asked about your standard-bearer?’ Florentyna teased.

‘Something unflattering, I’m sure.’

‘ “During your administration,” a journalist asked him, “in which major decisions has Vice President Nixon participated?” ’

‘And what was Ike’s reply?’ inquired Richard.

‘ “If you give me a week, I might think of one.” ’

During the remaining weeks of the campaign, Florentyna spent what free time she had addressing envelopes and answering phone calls at the party’s headquarters in San Francisco. Unlike the past two elections, she was convinced the Democrats had found a man in whom she could place unreserved support. The final television debate between the candidates re-awakened in her the political ambitions so nearly buried by Henry Osborne. Kennedy’s charisma and political insight were dazzling, and Florentyna was left to wonder how anyone who had followed the campaign could possibly vote Republican. Richard pointed out to her that charisma and good looks were not to be traded for a future policy and a proven record, even if it had to include a five o’clock shadow.

All through election night Richard and Florentyna sat up watching the results. The twists, the turns and the upsets lasted all the way to California, where by the smallest margin in American electoral history Kennedy became President. Florentyna was ecstatic about the final outcome, while Richard maintained that Kennedy would never have made it without Mayor Daley and the Cook County ballot boxes — or lack of them.

‘Would you vote the Democratic ticket if I were running for office?’

‘It would depend on your policies. I’m a banker, not a sentimentalist.’

‘Well, unsentimental banker, I want to open another store.’

‘What?’ said Richard.

‘There’s a bargain going in San Diego, a building with a lease of only two years to run, but it could be renewable.’

‘How much?’

‘Thirty thousand dollars.’

‘You’re mad, Jessie. That’s your projected profits for this year gone in expansion.’

‘And while you’re on the subject of expansion, I’m pregnant again.’

When the thirty-fifth President delivered his inaugural address Florentyna and Richard watched the ceremony on television in the apartment above the main shop.

‘Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans, born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace...’ Florentyna’s eyes never once left the man in whom so many people had placed their trust. ‘Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country...’ When President Kennedy concluded his speech, Florentyna watched the crowd rise and found herself joining in the applause. She wondered how many people were clapping in other homes throughout America. She turned to Richard.

‘Not bad for a Democrat,’ he said, aware he was also clapping.

Florentyna smiled. ‘Do you think my father is there?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘So now we sit and wait for the appointment.’

George wrote the next day to confirm that Abel had been in Washington for the celebrations. He ended on the words: ‘Your father seems confident about going to Warsaw, and I am equally sure that if he’s offered the position, it will be easier to get him to meet Richard.’

‘What a friend George has turned out to be,’ said Florentyna.

‘To Abel as well as to us,’ said Richard thoughtfully.

Each day Florentyna checked the new appointments as they were released by Pierre Salinger, the White House press secretary, but no announcement concerning the Polish ambassador was forthcoming.

Chapter seventeen

When Florentyna did see her father’s name in the paper, she could hardly miss it: the banner headline was all across the front page:

Florentyna read the story in disbelief.

The news story went on to report that rumors had been circulating in Washington for some time that the White House had been considering Mr. Rosnovski for the post of the next U.S. ambassador to Poland.

That night Florentyna lay awake wondering how it could have all happened and what her father must be going through. She assumed Henry was involved in some way and determined to follow every scrap of information that was reported in the papers. Richard tried to comfort her by saying there were very few businessmen alive who had not at some stage in their careers been involved in a little bribery.

Three days before the trial was due to begin, the Justice Department found Henry Osborne in New Orleans. He was arrested, charged and immediately turned State’s evidence. The FBI asked Judge Prescott for a postponement to discuss with ex-Congressman Osborne the contents of a dossier on Rosnovski that had recently come into their possession. Judge Prescott granted the FBI a further four weeks to prepare their case.

The press soon discovered that Osborne, in order to clear his considerable debts, had originally sold the file that he had compiled over ten years while serving as a director of the Baron Group to a firm of private investigators in Chicago. How the file had then come into the hands of the FBI remained a mystery.

Florentyna was fearful that with Henry Osborne as star witness for the prosecution her father might have to serve a long jail sentence. After another sleepless night, Richard suggested she ought to contact her father. She concurred and wrote him a letter assuring him of her support and her belief in his innocence. She was about to lick the envelope when she walked over to her desk, took out her favorite picture of her son and sent it to his grandfather.

Four hours before the trial was due to begin, Henry Osborne was found hanging in his cell by a guard bringing in his breakfast. He had used a Harvard tie.

‘Why did Henry commit suicide?’ Florentyna asked her mother on the phone later that morning.

‘Oh, that’s easy to explain,’ replied Zaphia. ‘Henry thought the private investigator who cleared his debts wanted the file for the sole purpose of blackmailing your father.’

‘And what was the real reason?’ asked Florentyna.

‘The file had been purchased anonymously in Chicago on behalf of William Kane, who then passed it on to the FBI.’

Florentyna felt such hatred whenever she thought about William Kane, she couldn’t stop herself from taking it out on Richard. But it was obvious that Richard was every bit as angry about his father’s behavior, which Florentyna discovered when she overheard a phone conversation between him and his mother.

‘That was pretty tough,’ said Florentyna when he finally put the phone down.

‘Yes, it was. My poor mother’s getting it from both sides.’

‘We haven’t reached the last act of this tragedy,’ said Florentyna. ‘Papa has wanted to return to Warsaw for as long as I can remember. Now he will never forgive your father.’

Once the trial began, Florentyna followed the proceedings each day by phoning her mother in the evening after Zaphia had returned from the courtroom. When she listened to her mother’s view on the day’s happenings she wasn’t always convinced they both wanted the same outcome.

‘The trial is beginning to go in your father’s favor,’ she said in the middle of the second week.

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Florentyna.

‘Since the FBI has lost its star witness, their case hasn’t stood up to much cross-examination. H. Trafford Jilks is making Henry Osborne sound like Pinocchio with a nose that was four feet long.’

‘Does that mean Papa will be proved innocent?’

‘I wouldn’t think so. But the courtroom officials are predicting that the FBI will have to make a deal.’

‘What sort of deal?’

‘Well, if your father pleads guilty to some minor offenses, they will drop the main charges.’

‘Will he get away with a fine?’ asked Florentyna anxiously.

‘If he’s lucky. But Judge Prescott is tough, so he may still end up in jail.’

‘Let’s hope it’s just a fine.’

Zaphia made no comment.

‘Six-month suspended sentence for the Chicago Baron,’ Florentyna heard the newscaster say on her car radio as she was driving to pick up Richard from the bank. She nearly collided with the Buick in front of her and pulled over into a ‘No Parking’ zone so that she could concentrate on what the newscaster had to say.

Florentyna turned off the radio and heard someone tapping on the side window. She wound it down.

‘Do you know you’re in a restricted area, ma’am?’

‘Yes,’ replied Florentyna.

‘I’m afraid it’s going to cost you ten dollars.’

‘Twenty-five thousand dollars and a six-month suspended sentence. It could have been worse,’ said George in the car on the way back to the Baron.

‘Don’t forget that I lost Poland,’ said Abel, ‘but that’s all history now. Purchase those two percent of Lester’s shares we need from Parfitt even if it costs a million. That will make up the eight percent of Lester’s that I need to invoke Article Seven of their bylaws and then I can slaughter William Kane in his own boardroom.’

George nodded sadly.

A few days later the State Department announced that the next American ambassador to Warsaw would be John Moors Cabot.

Chapter eighteen

The morning after Judge Prescott had given his verdict on Florentyna’s father, the second event occurred. The extension of the apartment phone rang in the shop and because Nancy was removing the summer clothes from the window, replacing them with the new autumn collection, Florentyna answered it.

‘Oh, I wondered if Mr. Kane was in,’ said a lady’s voice. She sounded a long way off.

‘No, I’m sorry, he has already left for work. Would you like to leave a message? It’s Florentyna Kane speaking.’

There was no immediate reply and then the voice said: ‘It’s Katherine Kane. Please don’t hang up.’

‘Why should I do that, Mrs. Kane?’ said Florentyna, her knees feeling so weak that she sank into a chair beside the phone.

‘Because you must hate me, my dear, and I can’t blame you,’ Richard’s mother said quickly.

‘No, of course I don’t hate you. Would you like Richard to call you back when he comes home?’

‘Oh, no. My husband doesn’t realize that I’m in touch with him. He would be very angry if he ever found out. No, what I was really hoping for will finally depend on you.’

‘On me?’

‘Yes. I desperately want to visit you and Richard and see my grandson — if you’ll allow me.’

‘I’d like that very much, Mrs. Kane,’ said Florentyna, not sure how she could sound more welcoming.

‘Oh, how considerate of you. My husband is going to a conference in Mexico in three weeks’ time, and I could fly out on a Friday. Only I would have to be back first thing on Monday morning.’

When Richard heard the news he went straight to the refrigerator. Florentyna followed, bewildered. She smiled as he slipped the gold foil from Claude’s bottle of Krug and began pouring.

Three weeks later Florentyna accompanied Richard to the airport to welcome his mother.

‘But you’re beautiful!’ were Florentyna’s first words as she greeted the elegant, slender lady who showed not the slightest sign of having spent the last six hours on a plane. ‘And you make me feel terribly pregnant.’

‘What were you expecting, my dear? An ogre with red horns and a long black tail?’

Florentyna laughed as Katherine Kane put an arm through hers and they walked off together, temporarily forgetting her son.

Richard was relieved to see how quickly the two of them became friends. When they arrived back at the apartment, Katherine reacted in the time-honored way when she set eyes on her first grandchild.

‘I do wish your father could see his grandson,’ she said. ‘But I fear it’s now reached a stage where he won’t even allow the subject to be discussed.’

‘Do you know any more than we do about what is happening between the two men?’ asked Richard.

‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Your father refused to let the bank support Davis Leroy when his hotel group collapsed and Florentyna’s father therefore blames my husband for the subsequent suicide of Mr. Leroy. The whole unfortunate episode might have ended there if Henry Osborne hadn’t come on to the scene.’ She sighed. ‘I pray to God the problem will be sorted out in my lifetime.’

‘I fear one of them will have to die before the other comes to his senses,’ said Richard. ‘They are both so confoundedly obstinate.’

The four of them had a wonderful weekend together even if Kate’s grandson did spend most of his time throwing his toys onto the floor. When they drove Katherine back to the airport on Sunday night, she agreed to come and see them the next time her husband was away on business. Katherine’s last words to Florentyna were ‘If only you and my husband could meet, he would realize immediately why Richard fell in love with you.’

As she turned to wave goodbye, her grandson repeated his one-word vocabulary: ‘Dada.’ Katherine Kane laughed. ‘What chauvinists men are. That was also Richard’s first word. Has anyone ever told you what yours was, Florentyna?’

Annabel came screaming into this world a few weeks later, and her parents held a double celebration at the end of the year when Florentyna’s delivered a profit of $19,174. Richard decided to mark the occasion by spending a small part of the profits on a dual golf membership at the Olympic Club.

Richard was given more responsibility in the overseas department of the bank and started returning home an hour later. Florentyna decided the time had come to employ a full-time nanny so that she could concentrate on her work in the stores. She realized she would never find a Miss Tredgold, but Bella recommended a black girl named Carol who had graduated from high school the year before and was finding it hard to get a job. Their son threw his arms around Carol the moment he met her. It brought home to Florentyna that prejudice was something a child only learns from its elders.

Chapter nineteen

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Florentyna. ‘I never thought it would happen. What wonderful news. But what made him change his mind?’

‘He’s not getting any younger,’ said Katherine Kane, her voice crackling over the phone, ‘and he’s frightened that if he and Richard don’t patch up their differences soon, he will retire from Lester’s without a son on the board. He also believes that the man most likely to succeed him in the chair is Jake Thomas. Mr. Thomas is only two years older than Richard and he certainly won’t want a younger man — especially a Kane — in the boardroom.’

‘I wish Richard were at home so I could tell him the news. But since he’s been promoted to head of the overseas department, he rarely gets back before seven. He’ll be so pleased. I’ll try not to show how nervous I am about meeting your husband,’ said Florentyna.

‘Not half as nervous as he is about meeting you. But have no fears, my dear, he’s preparing the fatted calf for his prodigal son. Have you heard anything from your father since I last spoke to you?’

No, nothing. I fear there’s never going to be a fatted calf for the prodigal daughter.’

‘Don’t give up; something may yet arise to make him see the light. We’ll put our heads together when you come to New York.’

‘I would love to believe it was still possible for Papa and Mr. Kane to be reconciled, but I’ve almost given up hope.’

‘Well, let’s be thankful that one father has at least come to his senses,’ said Katherine. ‘I’ll fly out to see you and fix up all the details.’

‘How soon can you come?’

‘I could get away this weekend.’

When Richard came home that evening he was overjoyed by the news and once he had finished reading the next chapter of Winnie the Pooh to his son, he settled down to listen to the details of his mother’s news.

‘We could go to New York around November,’ said Richard.

‘I’m not sure I can wait that long.’

‘You’ve waited for over six years.’

‘Yes, but that’s different.’

‘You always want everything to have happened yesterday, Jessie. That reminds me, I read your proposal for the new store in San Diego.’

‘And?’

‘Basically the idea makes a lot of sense and I approve.’

‘Good heavens. What next? I never thought I would hear such words from you, Mr. Kane.’

‘Now hold on, Jessie. It doesn’t get my wholehearted support because the one part of your expansion program I don’t understand is the necessity to employ your own designer.’

‘That’s easy enough to explain,’ said Florentyna. ‘Although we now have five shops, my expenditure on buying clothes remains as high as forty percent of turnover. If my own models were designed for me, I would have two obvious advantages. First, I could cut down my immediate expenditure, and second, we would be continually advertising our own product.’

‘It also has a major disadvantage,’ suggested Richard.

‘What’s that?’

‘There can be no rebate on clothes returned within ninety days if we already own them.’

‘Agreed,’ said Florentyna. ‘But the more we expand, the more that problem will diminish. And if I choose the right designer we’ll end up with our trademark clothes also being sold by our rivals.’

‘Has that proved worthwhile for other designers?’

‘In the case of Pierre Cardin, the designer became more famous than the stores.’

‘Finding such a man won’t be easy.’

‘Didn’t I find you, Mr. Kane?’

‘No, Jessie, I found you.’

Florentyna smiled. ‘Two children, a sixth shop, and you’re going to be invited to join the board of Lester’s. Most important of all, I have a chance to meet your father. What more could we want?’

‘It hasn’t happened yet.’

‘Typical banker. Whatever the forecast, you expect it to rain by midafternoon.’

Annabel started to cry.

‘See what I mean?’ said Richard. ‘Your daughter’s at it again.’

‘Why is it always my daughter who is bad and your son who is good?’

Despite Florentyna’s desire to travel to New York immediately after Kate had returned to the East Coast, she was more than fully occupied with opening the new shop in San Diego, keeping an eye on the other five stores, and somehow looking for the right designer — while still trying to be a mother. As the day for their journey to New York grew nearer, she became more and more nervous. She selected her own wardrobe carefully and bought several new outfits for the children. She even purchased a new shirt with a thin red stripe running through it for Richard, but she doubted that he would wear it except on weekends. Florentyna lay awake each night anxious that Richard’s father might not approve of her, but Richard kept reminding her of Katherine’s words: ‘...not half as nervous as he is.’

To celebrate the opening of the sixth store and the imminent reconciliation with his father, Richard took Florentyna to a performance of The Nutcracker by the Italian State Ballet Company at the War Memorial Opera House. Richard didn’t care much for the ballet himself, but he was surprised to find Florentyna equally restless during the performance. As soon as the house lights went up for the intermission he asked if anything was wrong.

‘Yes. I’ve been waiting almost an hour to find out who designed those fabulous costumes.’ Florentyna started to thumb through her program.

‘I would have described them as outrageous,’ said Richard.

‘That’s because you’re color-blind,’ said Florentyna. Having found what she was looking for, she started reading the program notes to Richard. ‘His name is Gianni di Ferranti and his biographical sketch says he was born in Milan in 1931 and is on his first tour with the ballet company since leaving the Institute of Modern Art in Florence. I wonder if he would consider resigning from the company and working for me.’

‘I wouldn’t, with the inside information I have on the company,’ said Richard helpfully.

‘Perhaps he’s more adventurous than you, darling.’

‘Or just mad. After all, he is Italian.’

‘Well, there’s only one way to find out,’ said Florentyna, standing up.

‘And how do you propose doing that?’

‘By going backstage.’

‘But you’ll miss the second half.’

‘The second half might not change my whole life,’ said Florentyna, stepping into the aisle.

Richard followed her out of the theater and they made their way around the outside of the building in silence until they reached the stage door. A young security guard pushed open his window.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, sounding as if it was the last thing he wanted to do.

‘Yes,’ Florentyna said. ‘I have an appointment with Gianni di Ferranti.’ She sounded very self-assured.

Richard looked at his wife disapprovingly.

‘Your name, please,’ said the guard, picking up a phone.

‘Florentyna Kane.’

The guard repeated the name into the mouthpiece, listened for a moment, then replaced the receiver.

‘He says he’s never heard of you.’

Florentyna was taken aback for a moment, but Richard took out his wallet and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the ledge in front of the guard.

‘Perhaps he has heard of me,’ said Richard.

‘You better go and find out,’ said the guard, casually removing the bill. ‘Through the door take the corridor to your right. Second floor on the left,’ he added before slamming down the window.

Richard led Florentyna to the stairs.

‘Most businessmen are involved in a little bribery at some stage in their careers,’ she teased.

‘Now, don’t get annoyed just because your lie failed,’ said Richard, grinning.

When they reached the room, Florentyna knocked firmly and put her head around the half-opened door.

A tall, dark-haired Italian was seated in one corner of the room eating spaghetti. Florentyna’s first reaction was one of admiration. He was wearing a pair of tailored jeans and blue blazer over a casual open-necked shirt. But the thing that struck her most was the young man’s long, artistic fingers. The moment he saw Florentyna he rose gracefully to his feet.

‘Gianni,’ she began expansively. ‘What a privilege—’

‘No,’ said the man in a soft Italian accent. ‘He’s in the washroom.’

Richard smirked and received a sharp kick on the ankle. Florentyna was about to speak again when the door opened and in walked a man no more than five feet five who was nearly bald, although Florentyna knew from the program notes that he was not yet thirty. His clothes were beautifully cut, but the spaghetti had had a greater effect on his waistline than on his friend’s.

‘Who are these people, Valario?’

‘Mrs. Florentyna Kane,’ said Florentyna before the young man could speak. ‘And this is my husband, Richard.’

‘What do you want?’ he asked, not looking at her while taking the seat opposite his companion.

‘To offer you a job as my designer.’

‘Not another one,’ he said, throwing his hands in the air.

Florentyna took a deep breath. ‘Who else has spoken to you?’

‘In New York, Yves Saint-Laurent. In Los Angeles, Pierre Cardin. As well as countless others in London, Paris and Rome. Need I go on?’

‘But did they offer you a percentage of the profits?’

What profits? Richard wanted to ask, but remembered the kick on the ankle.

‘I already have six shops and we have plans for another six in the pipeline,’ Florentyna continued impulsively. She hoped that Gianni di Ferranti hadn’t noticed her husband’s eyebrows rising dramatically at her words.

‘The turnover could be millions within a few years,’ she said.

‘Saint-Laurent’s turnover already is,’ said di Ferranti, still not turning to face her.

‘Yes, but what did they offer you?’

‘Twenty-five thousand dollars a year and one percent of the profits.’

‘I’ll offer you twenty and five percent.’

The Italian waved a dismissive hand.

‘Twenty-five thousand dollars and ten percent?’ she said.

The Italian laughed, rose from his chair and opened the door for Florentyna and Richard to leave. She stood firm.

‘You are the sort of person that would expect Zeffirelli to be available to design your next shop while still hoping to retain Luigi Ferpozzi as honorary advisor. Not that I could expect you to understand what I’m talking about,’ he added.

‘Luigi,’ said Florentyna haughtily, ‘is a dear friend of mine.’

The Italian placed his hands on his hips and roared with laughter. ‘You Americans are all the same. Next you’ll be saying you designed the Pope’s vestments.’

Richard had some sympathy with him.

‘Your bluff is called, Signora. Ferpozzi came to see the show in Los Angeles only last week and spoke to me at length about my work. Now at least I have found a way to be rid of you.’ Di Ferranti left the door open and picked up the phone on his dresser and without another word dialed a 213 number. No one spoke while he waited for the call to be answered. Eventually Florentyna heard a voice from the other end of the line.

‘Luigi?’ said di Ferranti. ‘It’s Gianni. I have an American lady with me called Mrs. Kane who claims she is a friend of yours.’

He listened for a few moments, his smile becoming broader.

‘He says he doesn’t know anyone called Mrs. Kane and perhaps you would feel more at home on Alcatraz?’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ said Florentyna. ‘But tell him he thinks my father built it.’

Gianni di Ferranti repeated Florentyna’s sentiments over the phone. As he listened to the reply his face became puzzled. He finally looked back at her. ‘Luigi says to offer you a cup of tea. But only if you’ve brought your own pot.’

It took Florentyna two lunches, one dinner with Richard, one with her bankers, and a big enough advance to move Gianni and his friend Valario from Milan to a new home in San Francisco to persuade the little Italian to join her as the company’s new in-house designer. Florentyna was confident that this was the breakthrough she had been looking for. In the excitement of negotiating with Gianni she quite forgot they were only six days away from going to New York to meet Richard’s father.

Florentyna and Richard were having breakfast that Monday morning when his face turned so white that she thought he was going to faint.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’

He pointed to the front page of The Wall Street Journal as if unable to speak. Florentyna read the bald announcement and silently handed the paper back to her husband. He read the statement slowly for a second time to be certain he understood the full implications. The brevity and force of the words were stunning: ‘William Lowell Kane, the president and chairman of Lester’s Bank, resigned after Friday’s board meeting.’

Richard knew that Wall Street would put the worst interpretation possible on such a sudden departure, made without explanation or any suggestion of illness, especially as his only son, a banker, had not been invited to take his place on the board. He put his arms around Florentyna and held her close to his chest.

‘Does it mean our trip to New York will be canceled?’

‘Not unless your father was the cause.’

‘It can’t happen — I won’t let it happen. Not after waiting so long.’

The phone rang and Richard leaned over to answer it, not letting go of Florentyna.

‘Hello?’

‘Richard, it’s Mother. I’ve been trying to get away from the house. Have you heard the news?’

‘Yes, I’ve just read it in The Wall Street Journal. What in heaven’s name made Father resign?’

‘I’m not certain of all the details myself, but as far as I can gather, Mr. Rosnovski has held six percent of the bank’s shares for the past ten years, and for some reason he only needed eight percent to be able to remove your father from the chair.’

‘To invoke Article Seven,’ said Richard.

‘Yes, that’s right. But I’m still not sure what that means.’

‘Well, Father had the clause put into the bank’s bylaws to protect himself from ever being taken over. He considered the clause was foolproof because only someone in possession of eight percent or more could challenge his authority. He never imagined anyone other than the family could ever get their hands on such a large stake in the company. Father would never have given up his fifty-one percent of Kane and Cabot to become chairman of Lester’s if he had felt an outsider could remove him.’

‘But that still doesn’t explain why he had to resign.’

‘I suppose Florentyna’s father somehow got hold of another two percent. That would have given him the same powers as Father and made life at the bank impossible for him as chairman.’

‘But how could he make life impossible?’ It was now obvious to Richard that his father had not even confided in Kate concerning what was happening at the bank.

‘Among the safeguards that Article Seven stipulates, if I remember correctly,’ Richard continued, ‘is that anyone in possession of eight percent of the shares can hold up any transaction the bank is involved in for ninety days. I know from the bank’s audit that Mr. Rosnovski held six percent. I suppose he obtained the other two percent from Peter Parfitt.’

‘No, he didn’t get the shares from Parfitt,’ said Kate. ‘I know your father managed to secure those shares by getting an old friend to purchase them for considerably more than they are worth, which is why he felt so relaxed lately and confident about the future.’

‘Then the real mystery is how Mr. Rosnovski got hold of the other two percent. I know no one on the board who would have parted with their own shares unless...’

‘Your three minutes are up, ma’am.’

‘Where are you, Mother?’

‘I’m in a pay phone. Your father has forbidden any of us to contact you ever again and he never wants to set eyes on Florentyna.’

‘But this has nothing to do with her, she’s—’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but your three minutes are up.’

‘I’ll pay for the call, operator.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but the call has been disconnected.’

Richard replaced the phone reluctantly.

Florentyna looked up. ‘Can you forgive me, darling, for having a father who was involved in such a terrible thing? I know I will never forgive him.’

‘Never prejudge anyone, Jessie,’ said Richard as he stroked her hair. ‘I suspect that if we ever discover the truth we shall find that the blame is fairly evenly distributed on both sides. Now, young lady, you have two children and six stores to worry about and I, no doubt, have irate customers waiting for me at the bank. Put this whole incident behind you because I am convinced that the worst is now over.’

Florentyna continued to cling to her husband, thankful for the strength of his words, even if she did not believe them.

Abel read the announcement of William Kane’s resignation in The Wall Street Journal the same day. He picked up the phone, dialed Lester’s Bank and asked to speak to the new chairman. A few seconds later Jake Thomas came on the line. ‘Good morning, Mr. Rosnovski.’

‘Good morning, Mr. Thomas. I’m just phoning to confirm that I shall release this morning my eight percent holding in Lester’s to you personally for two million dollars.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Rosnovski, that’s most generous of you.’

‘No need to thank me, Mr. Chairman; it’s no more than we agreed on when you sold me your two percent.’

Florentyna realized that it would take a considerable time to recover from the blow inflicted by her father. She wondered how it was still possible to love him and to hate him at the same time. She tried to concentrate on her fast-growing empire and to put the thought of never seeing her father again out of her mind.

Another blow, not as personal, but every bit as tragic for Florentyna, was delivered on November 22, 1963. Richard called her from the bank, something he had never done before, to tell her that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas.

Chapter twenty

Florentyna’s newly acquired Italian designer, Gianni di Ferranti, had come up with the idea of putting a small entwined double F on the collar or hem of all his garments. It looked most impressive and only enhanced the company’s reputation. Although Gianni was the first to admit that it was nothing more than a copy of an idea that Yves Saint-Laurent had used, nevertheless it worked.

Florentyna found time to fly to Los Angeles to look over a property that was up for sale on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. Once she had seen it, she told Richard she had plans for a seventh Florentyna’s. He said he would need to study the figures carefully before he could advise her if she should take up the lease that was offered, but he was under such pressure at the bank that it might have to wait a few days.

Not for the first time Florentyna felt the need of a partner or at least a financial director, now that Richard was so overworked. She would have liked to ask him to join her, but she felt diffident about suggesting it.

‘You’ll have to put an advertisement in the Chronicle and see how many replies you get,’ said Richard. ‘I’ll help you screen them and we can interview the short list together.’

Florentyna followed Richard’s instructions and within days the letters flooded in from bankers, lawyers and accountants, all of whom showed considerable interest in the appointment. Richard helped Florentyna sift through the replies. Halfway through the evening he paused over a particular letter and said: ‘I’m crazy.’

‘I know, my darling, that’s why I married you.’

‘We’ve wasted four hundred dollars.’

‘Why? You felt sure the advertisement would turn out to be an investment.’

Richard handed her the letter he had been reading.

‘Seems well qualified,’ said Florentyna, after she had read it through. ‘And since he’s at the Bank of America, you must have your own opinion as to whether he’s suitable to be my financial director.’

‘Undoubtedly. But who do you imagine will fill his position if he leaves the bank to join you?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Well, since he’s my immediate superior, it might be me,’ said Richard.

Florentyna burst out laughing. ‘And to think I didn’t have the courage to ask you. Still, I consider it four hundred dollars well spent — partner.’

Richard Kane left the Bank of America four weeks later and joined his wife as a 50 percent partner and the financial director of Florentyna Inc. of San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego.

Another election went by. Florentyna didn’t become involved because she was so overworked with her expanding empire. She admitted to Richard that she couldn’t trust Johnson and despised Goldwater. Richard put a bumper sticker on their car, and Florentyna immediately tore it off:

They agreed not to discuss the subject again, although Florentyna did gloat over the Democratic landslide that followed in November.

During the next year, only their two children grew more quickly than the company, and on their son’s fifth birthday they opened two more Florentyna’s: in Chicago and Boston. Richard remained cautious about the speed at which the shops were springing up, but Florentyna’s pace never faltered. With so many new customers wanting to wear Gianni di Ferranti’s clothes, she spent most of her spare time combing cities for prime sites.

By 1966 there was only one important city that did not boast a Florentyna’s. She realized it might be years before a site fell vacant on the only avenue fit for the Florentyna’s of New York.

Chapter twenty-one

‘You’re a stubborn old fool, Abel.’

‘I know, but I can’t turn the clock back now.’

‘Well, I can tell you, nothing’s going to stop me from accepting the invitation.’

Abel looked up from his bed. He had hardly left the penthouse since his bout with pneumonia six months before. After he had returned from an extensive trip to Poland, George was almost his only contact with the outside world. Abel knew that his oldest friend was right and he had to admit that it was tempting. He wondered if Kane would be going. He found himself hoping so, but he doubted it. The man was every bit as stubborn as he was...

George voiced Abel’s thoughts: ‘I bet William Kane will be there.’

Abel made no comment. ‘Do you have the final rundown on Warsaw?’

‘Yes,’ George said sharply, angry that Abel had changed the subject. ‘All the agreements are signed and John Gronowski couldn’t have been more cooperative.’

John Gronowski. The first Polish ambassador to Warsaw, reflected Abel. He would never recover from...

‘Your trip to Poland last year has achieved everything you could have hoped for. You will live to open the Warsaw Baron.’

‘I always wanted Florentyna to open it,’ said Abel quietly.

‘Then invite her, but don’t expect any sympathy from me. All you have to do is acknowledge Richard’s existence. And even you must have woken up to the fact that their marriage is a success — otherwise that wouldn’t be on the mantelpiece.’ George pointed to the unanswered invitation.

Everyone in New York seemed to be there when, on March 4, 1967, Florentyna Kane opened her new boutique, on Fifth Avenue. Florentyna, wearing a green dress that had been specially designed for her with the now famous double F on the high collar, stood near the entrance of the shop greeting her guests and offering them a glass of champagne. Katherine Kane, accompanied by her daughter Lucy, was among the first to arrive, and very quickly the floor was crowded with people whom Florentyna either knew very well or had never seen before. George Novak arrived a little later and delighted Florentyna by his first request — to be introduced to the Kanes.

‘Will Mr. Rosnovski be coming later?’ Lucy asked innocently.

‘I’m afraid not,’ said George. ‘I told him that he was a stubborn old fool to miss such a good party. Is Mr. Kane here?’

‘No, he’s not been well lately and rarely leaves the house nowadays,’ said Kate, and she then confided to George a piece of news that delighted him.

‘How is my father?’ Florentyna whispered into George’s ear.

‘Not well. I left him in bed in the penthouse. Perhaps when he hears that tonight you’re going to...’

‘Perhaps,’ said Florentyna. She then took Kate by the arm and introduced her to Zaphia. For a moment, neither of the two ladies spoke. Then Zaphia said, ‘It’s wonderful to meet you at last. Is your husband with you?’

The room became so crowded that it was almost impossible to move, and the ringing laughter and chatter left Florentyna in no doubt that the opening was going extremely well. But now she had only one thing on her mind: dinner that evening.

Outside, a large crowd had gathered on the corner of Fifty-sixth Street to stare at what was going on and the traffic on Fifth Avenue had nearly come to a standstill as men and women, young and old, peered through the large plate-glass windows.

A man stood in a doorway across the street, watching. He wore a black coat, a scarf around his neck and a hat pulled well down on his head. It was a cold evening and the wind was whistling down Fifth Avenue. Not a day for old men, he thought, and wondered if after all it had been wise to leave the warmth of his bed. But he was determined that nothing would prevent his witnessing the opening of this store. He fiddled with the silver band around his wrist and remembered the new will he had made, not leaving the heirloom to his daughter as he had originally promised.

He smiled as he watched young people surge in and out of the splendid store. Through the window he could just make out his ex-wife talking to George, and then he saw Florentyna, and a tear trickled down his lined cheek. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her. He wanted to cross the street that separated them and say, ‘George was right, I’ve been a stubborn old fool for far too long. Can you possibly forgive me?’ but instead he just stood and stared, his feet remaining fixed to the ground. He saw a young man by his daughter’s side, tall, self-assured and aristocratic — he could only be the son of William Kane. A fine man, George had told him. How had he described him? Florentyna’s strength. Abel wondered if Richard hated him and feared that he must. The old man pushed up his collar, took one last look at his beloved daughter and turned to retrace his steps to the Baron.

As he walked away from the store he saw another man heading slowly along the sidewalk. He was taller than Abel, but his walk was just as unsteady. Their eyes met, but only for a moment, and as they passed each other the taller of the old men raised his hat. Abel returned the compliment and they continued on their separate ways without a word.

‘Thank heavens, the last one has gone,’ said Florentyna. ‘And only just enough time for a bath before changing for dinner.’

Katherine Kane kissed her and said, ‘Goodbye for an hour.’

Florentyna locked the front door of the store and, holding her children’s hands tightly, she walked with them uptown. It would be the first time since her childhood that she had stayed in a hotel in New York other than the Baron.

‘Another day of triumph for you, my darling,’ said Richard.

‘To be followed by a night?’

‘Oh, stop fussing, Jessie. Father will adore you.’

‘It’s been such a long time, Richard.’

Richard followed her through the front door of the Pierre, then caught up with his wife and put his arm around her. ‘Eleven wasted years, but now we have the chance to make up for the past.’ Richard guided his family toward the elevators. ‘I’ll make sure the children are washed and dressed while you have your bath.’

Florentyna lay in the bath, wondering how the evening would turn out. From the moment Kate Kane had told her of Richard’s father’s desire to see them all, she had feared he would change his mind once again, but now the meeting was only an hour away. She wondered if Richard was having the same misgivings. She stepped out of the bath, dried herself before dabbing on a hint of Joy, her favorite scent, and a long blue dress specially chosen for the occasion: Kate had told her that her husband’s favorite color was blue. She hunted through her jewelry for something simple and slipped on the antique ring given to her so long ago by her father’s backer. When she was fully dressed she stared at herself critically in the mirror: thirty-three, no longer young enough to wear mini skirts nor old enough to be elegant.

Richard came in from the adjoining room. ‘You look stunning,’ he said. ‘The old man will fall in love with you on sight.’ Florentyna smiled and brushed the children’s hair while Richard changed. Their son, now seven, was wearing his first suit and looked quite grown-up; Annabel had on a red dress with a white ribbon around the hem: she had no problem with the latest mini fashion.

‘I think we’re all ready,’ said Florentyna when Richard reappeared. She couldn’t believe her eyes: he was wearing a shirt with a thin red stripe running through it.

The chauffeur opened the door of their hired Lincoln, and Florentyna followed her children into the back. Richard took a place in the front. As the car drove slowly through the crowded New York streets Florentyna sat in silence. Richard leaned over the back of his seat and touched her hand. The chauffeur came to a stop outside a small but elegant brownstone on East Sixty-eighth Street.

‘Now, children, remember, you must be on your best behavior,’ said Florentyna.

‘Yes, Mummy,’ they said in unison, unawed by the thought of at last meeting one of their grandfathers.

Before they had even stepped out of the car the front door of the house was opened by an elderly man in a cutaway who bowed slightly.

‘Good evening, ma’am,’ he said. ‘And how nice to see you again, Mr. Richard.’

Kate was waiting in the hall to greet them. Florentyna’s eyes were immediately drawn to an oil painting of a beautiful woman who sat in a crimson leather chair, hands resting in her lap.

‘Richard’s grandmother,’ said Kate. ‘I never knew her, but it’s easy to see why she was considered one of the beauties of her day.’

Florentyna continued to stare.

‘Is something wrong, my dear?’ Kate asked.

‘The ring,’ she said, barely in a whisper.

‘Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Kate, holding up her hand to display a diamond and sapphire ring. ‘William gave it to me when he asked me to be his wife.’

‘No, the other one in the portrait,’ said Florentyna.

‘The antique one, yes, quite magnificent. It had been in the family for generations, but I fear it’s been lost for some years. When I remarked on its disappearance to William he said he knew nothing of it.’

Florentyna raised her right hand and Kate stared down at the antique ring in disbelief. They all looked at the oil painting — there was absolutely no doubt.

‘It was a christening present,’ said Florentyna. ‘Only I never knew who gave it to me.’

‘Oh, my God,’ said Richard. ‘It never crossed my mind—’

‘And my father still doesn’t know,’ said Florentyna.

A maid bustled into the hall. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. I’ve told Mr. Kane that everybody has arrived. He asked if Richard and his wife would be kind enough to go up on their own.’

‘You two go on up,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll join you in a few minutes with the children.’

Florentyna took her husband’s arm and climbed the stairs, nervously fingering the antique ring. They entered the room to find William Lowell Kane sitting in the crimson leather chair by the fire. Such a fine-looking man, thought Florentyna, realizing for the first time what her husband would look like when he was old.

‘Father,’ said Richard, ‘I would like you to meet my wife.’

Florentyna stepped forward, to be greeted by a warm and gentle smile on William Kane’s face.

Richard waited for his father’s response, but Florentyna knew that the old man would never speak to her now.

Chapter twenty-two

Abel picked up the phone by the side of his bed. ‘Find George for me. I need to get dressed.’ Abel read the letter again. He couldn’t believe that William Kane had been his backer.

When George arrived, Abel didn’t speak. He just handed over the letter. George read it slowly. ‘Oh, my God,’ he said.

‘I must attend the funeral.’

George and Abel arrived at Trinity Church in Boston a few minutes after the service had begun. They remained behind the last row of respectful mourners. Richard and Florentyna stood on each side of Kate. Three senators, five congressmen, two bishops, most of the chairmen of the leading banks and the publisher of The Wall Street Journal were all there. The chairman and every director of the Lester’s board were also present.

‘Do you think they can forgive me?’ asked Abel.

George did not reply.

‘Will you go and see them?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Thank you, George. I hope William Kane had a friend as good as you.’

Abel sat up in bed looking toward the door every few moments. When it eventually opened he hardly recognized the beautiful lady who had once been his ‘little one.’ He smiled defiantly as he stared over the top of his half-moon spectacles. George remained by the door as Florentyna ran to the side of the bed and threw her arms around her father — a long hug that couldn’t make up for eleven wasted years, he told her.

‘So much to talk about,’ he continued. ‘Chicago, Poland, politics, the stores... But first, Richard. Can he ever believe I didn’t know until yesterday that his father was my backer?’

‘Yes, Papa, because he only discovered it himself a day before you, and we are still not sure how you found out.’

‘A letter from the lawyers of the First National Bank of Chicago who had been instructed not to inform me until after his death. What a fool I’ve been,’ Abel added. ‘Will Richard see me?’ he asked, his voice sounding very frail.

‘He wants to meet you so much. He and the children are waiting downstairs.’

‘Send for them, send for them,’ Abel said, his voice rising. George smiled and disappeared.

‘And do you still want to be President?’ Abel asked.

‘Of the Baron Group?’

‘No, of the United States. Because if you do, I well remember my end of the bargain. If the result of the New Hampshire primary turns out to be satisfactory...’

Florentyna smiled but made no comment.

A few moments later there was a knock at the door. Abel tried to push himself up as Richard came into the room, followed by the children. The head of the Kane family walked forward and shook hands warmly with his father-in-law.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s an honor to meet you.’

Abel couldn’t get any words out, so Florentyna introduced him to Annabel and his grandson.

‘And what is your name?’ demanded the old man.

‘William Abel Kane.’

Abel gripped the boy’s hand. ‘I am proud to have my name linked with that of your other grandfather. You will never begin to know how sad I am about your father,’ he said, turning to Richard. ‘I never realized. So many mistakes over so many years. It didn’t cross my mind, even for a moment, that your father could have been my benefactor. God knows, I wish I could have been given one chance to thank him personally.’

‘He would have understood,’ said Richard. ‘But there was a clause in the deed of the family trust which didn’t allow him to reveal his identity because of the potential conflict between his professional and private interests. He would never have considered making an exception to any rule. That’s why his customers trusted him with their life savings.’

‘Even if it resulted in his own death?’ asked Florentyna.

‘I’ve been just as obdurate,’ said Abel.

‘That’s hindsight,’ said Richard. ‘None of us could have known that Henry Osborne would cross our paths.’

‘Your father and I met, you know, the day he died,’ said Abel.

Florentyna and Richard stared at him in disbelief.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Abel. ‘We passed each other on Fifth Avenue — he had come to watch the opening of your new store. He raised his hat to me. It was enough, quite enough.’

Soon they were talking of happier days; both Abel and Florentyna laughed a little and cried a lot.

‘You must forgive us, Richard,’ said Abel. ‘The Polish are a sentimental race.’

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘My children are half-Polish.’

‘Can you join me for dinner tonight?’

‘Of course,’ said Richard.

‘Have you ever experienced a real Polish feast, my boy?’

‘Every Christmas for the past eleven years,’ Richard replied.

Abel laughed, then talked of the future and how he saw the progress of his group. ‘We ought to have one of your shops in every hotel,’ he told Florentyna.

She agreed.

Abel had only one other request of Florentyna: that she and Richard would accompany him on his journey to Warsaw in nine months’ time for the opening of the latest Baron. Richard assured him both of them would be there.

During the following months, Abel was reunited with his daughter and quickly grew to respect his son-in-law. George had been right about the boy all along. Why had he been so stubborn?

He confided in Richard that he wanted her return to Poland to be one Florentyna would never forget. Abel had asked his daughter to open the Warsaw Baron, but she had insisted that only the president of the Group could perform such a task, although she was anxious about her father’s health.

Every week Florentyna and her father would read together the progress report that came from Warsaw on the new hotel. As the time drew nearer for the opening, the old man even practiced his speech in front of her.

The whole family traveled to Warsaw together. They inspected the first Western hotel to be built behind the Iron Curtain and were reassured that it was everything Abel had promised.

The opening ceremony took place in the massive gardens in front of the hotel. The Polish Minister of Tourism made the opening speech welcoming his guests. He then called upon the president of the Baron Group to say a few words before performing the opening ceremony.

Abel’s speech was delivered exactly as he had written it and at its conclusion the thousand guests on the lawn rose and cheered.

The Minister of Tourism then handed a large pair of scissors to the president of the Baron Group. Florentyna cut the ribbon that ran across the entrance of the hotel and said, ‘I declare the Warsaw Baron open.’

Florentyna traveled to Slonim to scatter the ashes of her father in his birthplace before returning to America. As she stood on the land where her father had been born she vowed never to forget her origins.

Richard tried to comfort her; in the short time he had come to know his father-in-law he had recognized the many qualities he had passed on to his daughter.

Florentyna realized that she could never come to terms with their short reconciliation. She still had so much to tell her father and even more to learn from him. She continually thanked George for the time they had been allowed to share as a family, knowing the loss was every bit as deep for him.

The last Baron Rosnovski was left on his native soil while his only child and oldest friend returned to America.