A Race to Splendor (26 page)

“Good,” she said crisply. “That takes care of that problem. And how long will your funds last, if I may ask?” She could very well be unemployed again before long.

“The money will last until the wall shingles are in place. I’m due for a second loan to finish the interior and pay for the furniture we ordered C.O.D.,” he added.

His money would last only two more weeks!

“But I’m actually not that worried, Amelia,” he continued. “I’m betting Loy and his crew will dig the last few feet of rubble very soon and secure your grandfather’s safe. Even if the gold bars melted, they’re still legal tender.”

The fellow was a high-stakes gambler for sure. J.D., her late father, and Ezra Kemp were probably different versions of the same kind of man. Into her head popped a vision of the partial poker hand she habitually kept in her skirt pocket.

She gazed at the dazzling blue-green bay as the Winton left the boundary of the Presidio and sped down Lombard Street. Amelia squinted against the water’s glare. A deep sense of melancholy about the breach with Julia settled into her chest that the spectacular scenery could do nothing to assuage.

***

It was mid-afternoon when they pulled up in front of the Bay View. All was quiet on the building site.

“That blackguard, Kelly!” Amelia exclaimed. “Look! His crew left this wall half shingled and they’ve gone home for the day!”

“Without you here, cracking the whip, I can see we’re in serious trouble,” J.D. replied, only half in jest. “Good thing I rehired you.”

Just then, a tall, rotund figure suddenly stepped from the shadows at the hotel’s entrance.

“However you two slice it, I think you’re both in serious trouble.” Ezra Kemp walked toward their car and glanced down at the passenger seat. “Heard you got sacked today, Miss Bradshaw.”

“I’ve merely changed employers,” she replied coolly. Her mind was whirling over how swiftly one of the workers, overhearing J.D.’s conversation with her at the curb, had reported events back to Kemp.

“Well, does your employer
have the funds to pay you, or will you be recompensed some other way?”

Amelia stared at Kemp, outraged by his innuendo. Meanwhile, J.D. exited the Winton and strode toward their unwelcome visitor.

“To what do I owe the occasion, Ezra?”

“Same as before… I want the money you still owe me for the gambling club we built.”

“And to emphasize your point, you told Spitz, Jake Kelly, and his men to depart early, am I correct? Well, you’ll be pleased to learn the bank’s approved my second loan and the paperwork is being drawn up as we speak.”

Amelia knew for certain J.D. was bluffing. He’d just told her he was waiting for the loan to be approved, but she had to admire his cocksure attitude in the face of Kemp’s attempt to intimidate him.

“I’m not waiting for
paperwork
, J.D.” Kemp said, his eyes narrowing. “I want you to stop employing those Chinks and pay me what you owe me.
Now.
”

Amelia could feel her pulse racing. Had carpenter Kelly’s oft-voiced suspicions about the Chinese night laborers been relayed to Kemp?

“Well, wait you must, I’m afraid,” J.D. told Kemp pleasantly. “But not for long.”

“I’m not waiting,” Kemp declared. “And I expect you to appear for supper tonight, as we’ve agreed.”

“Terribly sorry, Ezra, but I have an obligation that just came up. Perhaps next week, when I bring you that bank draft.”

Kemp eyed Amelia speculatively. “I don’t think you understand how it will affect your health if you don’t meet your previous obligations, Thayer. But maybe there’s a better way to make my point clear.”

And without further comment, he strode down Jackson in the direction of Chinatown.

“He’s out-and-out threatening you!” Amelia exclaimed when Kemp was out of earshot. “The man is outrageous! And now, half your construction crew are beholden to him and not you.” Thayer didn’t reply. Before she could exit the motorcar, J.D. resumed his place behind the steering wheel. “What are you doing?” she demanded as he put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the curb.

“You, my dear Miss Bradshaw, are about to have your first driving lesson. We’re both going to need speed and mobility if we’re to outfox the nasty Mr. Kemp, not to mention saving money every time I send you to fetch supplies instead of one of our workers.”

Twenty minutes later, the pair retraced the route to the Presidio and J.D. pulled the Winton to a stop on the parade grounds.

“This is madness!” Amelia exclaimed. “I have absolutely no idea how to operate this enormous machine.”

“Would you like to learn?”

Amelia’s gaze roved the length of the shining blue, open-aired motorcar that had been her grandfather’s delight. The notion of being at the controls of such a powerful contraption overcame her trepidation at learning such a dangerous skill. Who cared who her instructor might be?

“In actual fact, I’d
love
to! But do you think I’m strong enough to control such a machine on these steeps hills?”

“Well you turned the crank just fine on your own on the day of the quake, remember? Driving it is the easy part.”

“It
would
be wonderful to be able to go on needed errands when you were busy somewhere else… but—”

“We’ll make this short and sweet.” J.D. killed the engine, reached down to the floor of the vehicle, and retrieved the crank. “Step one. Remember how to start it?”

As they often did when something triggered a memory about the quake, frightening recollections of that day once again sprang to the surface. The smoke. The terror that the car might not start or that she’d break her arm trying, and then they would all burn to death. Amelia pushed these unwanted thoughts aside.

“Yes. Yes, of course I remember how to start this vehicle. Hand it to me, please.”

She exited the car, inhaled deeply, inserted the crank into its narrow shaft, and gave it a few forceful twists, vastly relieved when the motor turned over, caught, and began running.

“It always starts up wonderfully well,” J.D. said.

“Of course it does. My grandfather only bought the best,” she replied tartly.

J.D. looked at her briefly and then put the car in gear. “I’ve brought you back to the Presidio because there are plenty of open spaces here, and no chance of mowing down any unsuspecting pedestrians.”

The parade ground was deserted in the late afternoon, with only a few tent dwellers curious enough to stand on the sidelines.

“Right,” J.D. announced. “Now we’ll see how well you can shift the gears. Switch seats with me.”

As the sun dipped over the bay, Amelia struggled under J.D.’s tutelage to coordinate the motions of her hands and feet and succeeded only in grinding the gears so badly she thought the metal parts would fall onto the parade ground.

“No, no, no, Amelia!” he chastised. “Gently! Smoothly! Don’t attack it as if you were in a boxing ring.”

“You’ll have to get out of the car.”

“What?”

“You’re giving me fits, barking orders like I’m one of your carpenters. Get out of the car and let me see if I can do it on my own.”

“All right, but—”

“If I don’t get the hang of it this time, I’ll quit. It’s starting to get dark and I’m afraid I’m going to destroy this poor machine. That would even be worse than not learning to drive it.”

J.D. exited on the passenger side and stood a few feet distant.

“Stand behind a tree, please.”

“For heaven’s sake, Amelia.”

“I mean it. Over there. Behind that cypress.”

J.D. disappeared behind the tree trunk while Amelia took another deep breath. With renewed determination, she put a gloved hand on the gearshift. She released the brake and the car began to roll down the slight incline. Slowly, she shifted the lever while moving her feet in a similarly smooth manner. The car traveled forward relatively smoothly.

“
I did it!
” she whispered. A buoyancy, like air in a boat’s sail, filled her chest as she made a wide, arcing turn and started up the incline.

Her feeling of triumph was short lived when the engine immediately began to strain.
Downshift… downshift sl—o—w—ly
she cautioned herself and felt a flush of victory when the gears meshed, caught, and gave the car a boost up the low hill. Giddy with glee, she promised herself that if she ever returned to Paris, she’d drive right down the Champs-Elysées, her hair pulling free of its pins and streaming behind her.

For the next fifteen minutes she piloted the car in slow circles, shifting the gears with reasonable skill and braking as required. At length, she made a final, slow turn at the north end of the open area and coasted downhill, intending to halt just shy of the cypress tree where J.D. was waiting with what she could only judge was the broad grin of a proud papa.

Ten feet away she shifted her feet, planning to glide to a perfect stop. Instead, she mistakenly put a foot on the accelerator and the motorcar lurched forward. At the last possible second, she swerved, missing the tree by inches. She finally managed to screech to a stop, though by this time, her entire body was shaking.

J.D. peered from behind the tree. “Perhaps you think you have good cause, but convince me, please, that you didn’t intend to kill me.”

Amelia’s forehead rested against the steering wheel and her breath came in gasps.

“I did not… intend… to run you over,” she said, her voice muffled by her sleeve. “But I nearly killed myself.”

“Nonsense! You did wonderfully well!” J.D. walked to the driver’s side and patted her on the sleeve. “You should have seen this car when
I
first started to drive. I had to have plenty of dents knocked out of it. All it takes is practice, but you did it. You can drive!”

Amelia raised her head to the scattered applause from a few refugees standing on the edge of the field. She smiled weakly and waved at the motley crowd that had no other amusements than to watch her herky-jerky efforts to tame the horseless carriage.

She looked over at J.D., her feat beginning to dawn on her. “I can drive,” she breathed. “I can actually
drive
this blasted machine.”

“All right, all right… no resting on your laurels.” J.D. climbed into the passenger seat. “Put us in gear, my dear Miss Bradshaw, and let’s see if you can get us safely to Tadich’s.”

“Tadich’s? With you? I can’t do that,” she blurted.

“Why not? You’ve gone there with Angus.”

“Once. And he’s not my employer. No, you’re very kind, Mr. Thayer, but I’ll just drive us back to the Fairmont, and you’ll have your evening to yourself.”

“You’ve lost your room there, remember?”

“Oh Lord…” she murmured.

“So Tadich’s it is. You can sleep in one of the Bay View maid’s rooms. It’s a bit drafty, but at least it has a door that shuts.” He pointed to her boot resting on the Winton’s floorboards. “And easy on the accelerator, if you don’t mind.”

Chapter 21

Amelia’s driving lesson concluded with an uneventful return to the heart of the city. Mercifully, she and J.D. arrived a block from Tadich’s restaurant before dusk had become evening. She carefully downshifted and made a remarkably smooth stop next to the curb.

J.D. looked across at her from the passenger seat, a trace of the grin he’d displayed at the parade grounds pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Well done, Miss Bradshaw. I believe you can call yourself an expert driver now. Your many talents continue to amaze me.”

“Thank you,” she said, just short of breathless.

“No one can deny that you certainly
are
a woman of the twentieth century.”

“I like convenience as much as the next man.”

J.D. put his head back and roared with laughter. Then he looked at her squarely, his admiration undisguised. “And you have a sense of humor, Miss Bradshaw. Who would have thought it?”

“And
you
like to laugh, though I don’t think that you do it very often, Mr. Thayer.”

They were both smiling broadly and she felt a subtle shift in the tenor of their banter. Before she was aware of what was happening, J.D. leaned across the car and gently seized her chin in his hand.

“But I must correct you on one thing. You don’t, in the slightest, resemble a man. In fact, not at all.”

It almost seemed to Amelia as if an arc of electricity connected them now, blue and pulsing. They locked glances and, like magnets, each leaned imperceptibly toward the other.

And then he kissed her. On the lips.

Surely he will soon pull away
, she thought, and when he didn’t, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into his embrace, her mouth welcoming the first, astonishing contact with his lips.

A cable car trundling nearby clanged its bell a block away and Amelia’s eyelids shot open. Good gracious! Here they were in broad daylight—well, dusk, she thought, glancing over his shoulder. How preposterous that two adversaries who had battled in a San Francisco courtroom less than a year previously were kissing in a motorcar parked in front of Tadich’s Grill for all the world to see.

Amelia pulled back sharply and fumbled with the handle on the car door.

J.D. reached out and laid a hand on her sleeve. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

She turned to stare at him, wide-eyed with embarrassment. Then she realized he was teasing her again.

“Yes, of course. Thank you for my driving lesson,” she managed primly.

“That’s all?”

She felt hot and flustered and thoroughly put out with herself as she made a determined effort to recover her dignity.

“For the many skills you undoubtedly have, Mr. Thayer, I commend you.”

“To which skill are you referring, exactly?”

“You know which.”

His glance was challenging, but she refused to take the bait. They waited in silence for a few moments longer before J.D. said, “Shall we go in to supper? I’m sure you’ll have many times in the future when you can dazzle the world with your prowess… at the wheel.”

He was deliberately provoking her and she cursed the flush of heat fanning her face. Rather than answer, she opened the car door and got out. What else was she supposed to say to him now, she wondered. That his first, brief kiss far outshone the fumbling attempts of a boy she knew at Berkeley? Or even the prowess of First Officer Etienne Lamballe, for that matter?

She may have seriously enjoyed their embrace a minute ago, but the fact was they were architect and client, a relationship she had an obligation to keep strictly professional. She had no business allowing J.D. to kiss her or making ridiculous comparisons with other men—given her rather limited experience in the ways of the world.

But you’re not a total neophyte, are you, Amelia? If his kiss felt that marvelous, what would it be like if you and he…?

She turned to walk toward the entrance to the restaurant, deeply regretting she’d accepted an invitation to dine in public with her employer.

“Wait!” J.D. called after her.

When she turned to face him, his expression had grown serious.

“Amelia, before we go in, I need to talk to you about something you may hear soon from other sources…”

She had no desire to listen to any confessions concerning his relationship with the late Ling Lee. He’d kissed her just now—and she’d let him. Well, it was up to her to see that it wouldn’t happen again. She held up a gloved hand to halt the discussion.

“There’s absolutely no need to enlighten me about any aspect of your private life, Mr. Thayer,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “What just happened was a mistake. My job is to help you complete the rebuilding of the Bay View on time and on budget. Nothing more, nothing less.”

J.D. appeared to accept the sharp veer in their conversation. “And if all continues to go well,” he replied, “we’ll be open for business in March,
ahead
of Miss Morgan’s Fairmont and the first anniversary of the quake.”

Amelia felt a stab of guilt. Julia’s efforts at the other hotel would, by necessity, take much longer because she was a stickler that every aspect of the reconstruction be done properly—unlike the work of the demoted site supervisor, Dick Spitz, and his crony, carpenter Kelly.

“Well, doesn’t that rather depend on our making the masons rebuild the chimney properly so your guests will have heat in their rooms and the place won’t burn down—again?” She flashed him a challenging smile. “Maybe I’ll take a drive down to the docks tomorrow and see if that load of bricks has arrived or any of the furniture you ordered has made its way to San Francisco.”

“I knew if you learned to drive you’d be dangerous.”

She felt a sudden attack of melancholy, thinking about the beautiful furniture her grandfather had collected over the years that had gone up in smoke.

“You know, Mr. Thayer, on the outside, the Bay View may look the same, but it will never be quite like the hotel my grandfather built. That beautiful bank of gilded mirrors in the lobby… the plush red furniture…”

To her surprise, Thayer leaned toward her and seized her hand. “Whatever my sins, Amelia—and I am quite aware they are many—I do appreciate that it can’t be easy for you to rebuild the hotel your grandfather created. I am vastly impressed by your skills, and I thank you for them.” His touch was dangerously comforting and she wondered at the sudden change in his mood. He was speaking to her now as if she were an old friend. “Sometimes it’s beyond bearing, trying to recover what’s been lost, don’t you think? There are days when I feel like climbing on board some ship and sailing off to Timbuktu—wherever that is.”

“Paris, Mr. Thayer,” she advised soberly, wondering that they had lingered so long in conversation on the sidewalk in front of Tadich’s. “Head for Paris. A much more pleasant escape, I can assure you.”

“I expect your time in France changed everything about you.” His mood had shifted again and his lips faintly curved. “Now that you and I have shared a kiss, I think it wouldn’t be amiss if you stopped calling me ‘Mr. Thayer,’ agreed?”

She dropped her gaze to stare at her gloved hand resting in his. “On the contrary, given the tasks that lay ahead, I’m afraid ‘Mr. Thayer’ it must remain.”

Just then, a guest at Tadich’s burst through the door onto the pavement. In a move that left her feeling mildly bereft, J.D. released her hand.

“When in doubt… flee to Paris,” he murmured. “I’ll remember your suggestion.”

Walking separately into the restaurant, they spent the rest of the evening discussing supply budgets and labor schedules for the work yet to be done.

***

After a very fine dinner at Tadich’s, J.D. pointed the Winton up Vallejo Street, turning left onto Taylor Street. He glanced at the passenger next to him, tendrils of her brunette hair swept back by the breeze in the open-air motorcar.

He’d been impulsive tonight, something he prided himself on
not
being in most instances. Fortunately, Amelia Bradshaw had imminent good sense, along with her obvious talents as an architect, and during the rest of their meal they’d both exhibited admirable restraint.

His mind, however, had begun to travel in directions that had him worried. He certainly did not need any additional complications in his life. Before he could go any further with such thoughts, however, he noticed an ominous glow illuminating the night sky.

“Sweet Jesus!” exclaimed Amelia. “Look! Over there! The sky’s orange.”

Images of fire and littered streets and streams of refugees fleeing toward the Presidio played out in J.D.’s mind as if the quake and fire of only months ago were still tormenting the city.

“Oh God, not again,” he groaned.

Amelia pointed at a team of horses straining to pull a brass fire engine down the street, their clanging bells renting the night air. “They’re heading down Taylor Street,” she said, her voice growing shrill. “It’s the Bay View!” she half-sobbed as J.D. slammed his foot on the accelerator. “Dear God! The hotel’s totally engulfed in flames!” They could hear another fire brigade clanging its way up a nearby street, heading for the corner of Taylor and Jackson. “The entire neighborhood might burn down again.”

But all J.D. could think about was the hotel that he’d worked so hard to raise from it’s charred foundation and for which he and Amelia had both absorbed so many body blows.

“What about Loy and Shou Shou and little Foo?” Amelia cried against the wind as the Winton screeched to a halt a block from a battery of fire engines gathered to battle the blaze. “What about the
workers
?”

“Nobody’s there,” he shouted across the passenger seat. “Except Barbary.”

By the time they ran to the corner, the scene had taken on a surreal quality. He could hear the fire crackling and feel the heat. He ran up to one of the volunteer firefighters.

“I’m the hotel’s owner, J.D. Thayer. For God’s sake, what happened?”

“A big explosion happened, that’s what!” The fireman was rapidly unwinding a length of hose from a large metal spindle. “Who might still be in there, sir?”

J.D. scanned the burning wreckage. “As far as I know, no one,” he replied.
Except my dog…
He couldn’t think about that now, for chaos reigned everywhere on the street.

The firefighter gave him a relieved look, seized the front end of the hose, and charged toward the burning inferno.

How could this be?
J.D. demanded silently.

Everything had been in working order only hours earlier. Someone Dick Spitz had recruited supervised the installation of the boilers the day before. Only Providence had saved his Chinese workers, though. He’d had time to offer to teach Amelia to drive this night because Loy’s men weren’t scheduled to return until after the boilers had been inspected and they could once more attempt to clear the final debris near his buried walk-in safe.

Just then, a pair of shingles atop one of the Queen Anne turrets hissed and disintegrated, sending a shower of sparks into the fog clinging to the night sky. J.D. attempted to gather his wits, thinking, suddenly, that the disaster could well have been man-made. Kemp had been known to send his bullyboys to other sites where he was at odds with the owners. Why not dispatch an arsonist to finish the job? The scoundrel may have known there was no insurance on the building because the financially strapped owner hadn’t the funds for such luxuries. With J.D. bankrupt, Kemp could claim the property in lieu of the money he was still owed by its owner—and rebuild on this choice piece of land at below cost.

Amelia had been very astute to suspect Kemp of wanting to take total control
, he thought
. Why didn’t I pay more attention to what she was saying…?

J.D. bolted away from the fire engine, dodging members of the fire brigade as he rounded the corner to view the conflagration from the Jackson Street side of his property. With Amelia trailing a few steps behind, the first faces he recognized among the onlookers were those of Julia Morgan and Ira Hoover. Miss Morgan’s hair was fashioned in a braid plaited down her back. She and her deputy had obviously dressed hastily at the Fairmont and run to his aid.

“Oh thank heavens you’re both all right!” Julia exclaimed, her owlish eyes glistening with tears as she caught sight of them. “We were so
worried
.” Before he or Amelia could react to her show of emotion, Miss Morgan added, “So fortunate you both weren’t inside, Mr. Thayer. So
very
fortunate.”

“Yes…” he replied faintly, the full, financial impact of the night’s events beginning to dawn on him. He would have to pay many new fees to redraw rebuilding plans, as his originals were surely cinders by now.

“Who else might have been in there?” asked Ira, his gaze glued to the conflagration.

“No one, thank God.” J.D. felt Amelia catch his eye and they exchanged a knowing glance. “The boiler installers finished their work, and Spitz’s men had departed by the time we left for supper downtown.”