Inheritance (32 page)

Inheritance

"We would put him in tlie furnace room."

Allison laughed, remembering Owen saying that a good concierge was a good politician. I miss Owen, she thought, following the rotund figure of the concierge through the packed lobby. A year ago this month we buried him, and I never knew how much I loved him until he was gone.

She missed Laura, too, but that thought she did not allow herself.

In the living room of their suite, she stood at the window while Patricia opened the bottle of champagne that had been dehvered when they arrived. Below them the river Amstel cut a wide blue swath through the bustling streets and across the concentric rings of tree-lined canals laid out at perfect intervals in ever-widening U*s around the city center. Block after block of closely built buildings of gray stone and red brick, gabled, arched, many-windowed, often with bright orange roofs, stretched to the horizon, and Allison gazed at them, imagining families in each one: loves and hates, joys and fears, marriage and divorce. And none of them knew or cared about Allison Salinger, who had been Allison Wolcott for less than a year and now was right back where she started. At least in her name.

"What shall we doT* she asked abruptiy. "How about a walk throu^ the Walletjes while it's still light?"

Patricia made a face. "Ugly and depressing."

"It*s just a neighbortiood of self-employed women," Allison said mockingly. **And Vm interested even if you're not."

"Don't be cute." Patricia's voice was bored, 'There's nothing interesting about looking at prostitutes sitting in the windows of their rooms, knitting and waiting for customers. I'd rather go to Cafe Reynders and meet some men."

"You mean insteaid of sitting in a window, knitting, you'll go out and grab the men yourself."

"How unpleasant you are," Patricia murmured.

"I know." Allison turned back to the window. Patricia was right: she was being unpleasant, and going to the Walletjes wasn't fim. Watching those women was like staring at caged animals in the zoo. But she didn't want to meet men; she didn't want to shop; there was really nothing she wanted to do.

Judith Michael

Looking out the window, she felt ancient and world weary. It was being married and divorced, she thought; and on top of that finding out that your best friend was a thief who was out to rob your family. And on top of all that, doing your best to help a man—even marrying him!—and then finding out he was uninterested. Even worse, uninteresting.

Patricia was the smart one: nothing seemed to bother her; she never got involved; she just aimed at having a good time. I should be like that, Allison thought. What the hell, you do your best to help people and they don't give a danm. Well, fuck them all; FU be like my cousin and just take care of me for a while.

The trouble was, she hadn't felt young or adventurous for the longest time. She wouldn't be in Europe this minute, running around like a teenage tourist, if her mother hadn't practically ordered her to go. "You've been mooning around for almost a year," Leni had said in June. "It's time for you to rediscover how big the world is. Go somewhere exotic; at least go to Europe. A healthy young woman of twenty-two should be thinking about possibilities, not failures."

And her mother was right. But her mother was always right: cool and competent; in control of her emotions and her whole life. Even when she had wept about Owen, she hadn't been messy; everything about her was elegant and perfect.

"All right," she said briskly to Patricia. "Let's go shopping. And I'll ask the concierge about the grand prix in Zandvoort; I think it's this month. I want to go there, anyway, to the casino."

"Shopping where?"

"PC. Hooftstraat. And then you choose where we go for dinner."

"And then Cafe Reynders."

Allison hesitated. But Leni's voice came back: stop blaming yourself; stop blaming Thad; stop looking for blame. Look for fun instead. Try to have fun.

"Fine," she said. "Why not?"

Other shopping streets in Amsterdam were longer and more famous than PC. Hooftstraat, but Leni had taught Allison, almost from the cradle, to gravitate to the faintly hushed atmosphere that settles like a silken cloak on those rarefied districts

Inheritance

where nothing is offered that is not the finest the worid can produce, and no salesperson offers it who has not raised atten-tiveness and expertise to an art. For hours she and Patricia browsed in the glittering boutiques where voices were as refined as the atmosphere, and when they returned to the hotel at two in the morning, after dinner and the Cafe, their purchases were waiting for them in their suite: dresses and coats, shoes and silks, purses and jeweb^.

""Allison?" Patricia called suddenly as they undressed in their separate bedrooms. "EHd you see that litde vase I bought in Venice? I had it on the table next to my bed.**

'The maid probably put it away with all your other treasures," Allison said from her room.

"Why would anybody put away a vase?"

"I can't imagine."

Patricia was opening and closing drawers. '^Definitely not here. Somebody stole it.**

Allison appeared in the doorway wearing a nightgown and a satin robe. "You*re sure it*s gone?'*

Patricia gestured at the room and the open bureau drawers.

"It was worth something, wasn*t it?"

"Only about fifteen hundred, but I liked it."

"Fifteen hundred is a lot of money to a lot of people." Allison went to the telephone and dialed the front desk. "This is Miss Salinger, would you please send someone from security to our suite?**

The voice at die other end, young and nervous, turned wary. "Security. Ah, yes, of course. But, please, if you could tell me what is wrong . . ."

"Something is missing from our rooms. I don*t want to discuss it over the telephone; I want someone here. Now."

"Yes, now, of course, but also I will call the director of security; I think it is better— **

"Fine." Allison reached for a pencil. "What is his name?"

"Ben Gardner," said the boy.

Ben had just fallen asleep, his hand loosely cupped around the ample breast of his latest young woman, when the telephone rang beside his bed. "I wouldn't have bothered you,** Albert apologized as soon as he answered, "but someone in

Judith Michael

the royal suite just called—about something being stolen. She said her name was Salinger, and I thought you would want to handle it your— '"

"I would." He was aheady out of bed. "Which Salinger?**

**l don't know; she arrived on the day shift and I didn't take the time to look it up; I thought I should call you first."

"You were right. Tell her TU be there in hadf an hour."

His voice had been steady, but his thoughts were churning. Somediing stolen. Royal suite. Salinger.

He pulled on daric twill pants and a white shirt just back from the laundiy, knotted a somber blue tie at his neck, and grabbed his jacket on the way out the door. The young woman in the bed had not stirred.

Saling^, he thought, unlocking his bicycle. Salinger. Somettdng. Stolen. He bent low, pedaling fiercely through the streets to the nearest taxi stand, the route so familiar he barely noticed it, concentrating on his thoughts.

Theft was a serious problem in hotels the world over, but not here; they'd been lucky or they'd been better than others, or both. He'd been at the Amsterdam Salinger for two years, helping to enlarge the security staff and overseeing the instal-latioo of a new system of door locks and safes in all the rooms. It had been his suggestion that guards be hired to patrol die loading dock—a suggestion that got him the position of director of security when the old director retired. And in those two years, not one major theft had been reported. A few minor (soblems, nK)stly packages taken in the lobby and restaurant, but nothing serious and nothing involving anyone influential. Until now. A Salinger robbed in a hotel where Ben Gardner is director of security.

He locked his bicycle at the taxi station and leaped into the first car in line. At two in the moming the streets were mostly quiet, and it took them only a few minutes to cross the bridges over die series of canals around the Centrum and past the slumbering shops on the Rokin to the Nieuwe Doelenstraat, where the Amsterdam Salinger stood in restored seventeenth-century grandeur. And where the assistant manager stood nervously at the entrance, awaiting him.

"I called Henrik," he said as Ben strode toward the elevators. "His wife said he is sick—^"

Inheritance

*'ril take care of it/* He kept going, noting that his breath and voice had sounded normal even though his heart still raced. In the elevator he tightened his tie, made sure his suit jacket was smooth and straight, and ran a comb through his hair. At the last minute he took from his inside pocket a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and put them on.

When Allison opened the door, their eyes met in silence. She was frowning because he looked familiar, but she couldn*t place him. And even while she tried to pin down that elusive familiarity, she knew his hard face wasn't like anyone*s she knew: the strong jaw, dark brows almost meeting above bard blue eyes, blond hair combed but still a little windblown, a tall, lean body standing at ease but the neck muscles taut for no reason that she could see. There was a contained fierceness in him that attracted her: she was curious about what was behind the sober respectability of his dark business suit and horn-rimmed glasses.

She held out her hand. "Ben Gardner?** At his quick flash of surprise, she smiled. 'Tm Allison Salinger. I always get people*s names; it*s best to know who*s supposed to be help-mg me.** Their hands met with equal strengtfi.

He knew of her. In the days when he read magazines and newspaper articles, looking for mention of the Salingers, he had read about Allison. Felix*s daughter.

*Tlease come in,** she said.

A young woman sat on the couch, and Albeit was on a hassock nearby, a clipboard on his lap. But Ben still looked at Allison. He*d thought he knew what she looked like, from seeing her picture occasionally in a magazme or newspaper, but no picture had the impact of the woman before him. She was more striking than he had imagined, and more aloof, and he found himself wondenng what she would be like when aroused. His eyes showed nothing, his face was impassive, but he was imagining the feel of that long, angular body and silken hair beneath his hands as he forced her to drop her cool facade and the small smile she wore as provocatively as her pale satin robe.

"My cousin Patricia Salinger,** Allison said. "Patricia, this is Ben Gardner, the director of security.**

Patricia looked up and nodded. A pale echo of Allison, Ben

Judith Michael

thought, with none of her style. Which means it comes from Leni. It had been a long time since he had wanted to confront the members of the Salinger family and make them pay for what Felix had done to his father; even a thirst for revenge diminishes as a boy of thirteen becomes a man of thiity-one. Now he found himself once again wanting to meet them.

**rve told him everything I know," Patricia said, tilting her head toward Albert. 'It's astonishing that your security is so lax; have you been doing this sort of work very longT*

*Tatricia is upset," Allison said quickly. ''She . . . bought the vase for ... as a gifr for my mother. It was very special to her."

'Thanks so much, dear Allison," Patricia drawled. "But why make up a story? Why should you care whether a hotel employee thinks I have cause to be upset or not? Fm annoyed because it was a rather nice vase and I bought it for myself, not for the first maid who came along."

She could make trouble, Ben thought. But Allison, who had surprised him by trying to soften her cousin's harsh words, might keep her in check if she wanted to. "Do you have information about a maid taking it?" he asked evenly.

"Of course not; we weren't here. But the maids were; we'd been shopping and our packages arrived— ** She gestured toward Albert. "He has all this; I don't know why I need to repeat it."

"You needn't, of course, if you've told Albert everything; I'm sure you'd like to get to sleep. I'll read his report and taSk to you in the morning. If you'll call my extension when you get up we can discuss how we'll proceed."

He had not sat down. He bent his head toward Patricia in what was neither a bow nor a nod, but something in between, and turned to go.

"Why don't we talk at breakfast?" Allison asked.

There was the briefest hesitation. "We could do that. Eight o'clock?"

Patricia was crossing the room to her bedroom. "Allison, you know perfectly well I don't eat breakfast."

"I forgot," Allison said blandly, looking at Ben. "But if Mr. Gardner has breakfast with me, he can talk with you afterward."

Inheritance

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lt*s quite ridiculous," Patricia said from her doorway. *'We'll never see that vase again; some crawly little maid has already sold it. I don't know why you even bothered to call . . r

Her door closed behind her. Ben and Allison looked at each other. Finally Albert rose. "I shall type up my notes; they are not easy for anyone but me to read. . , ."

"ril come with you; I have work to do." Ben*s face was taut with the effort of keeping his eyes from betraying him when he looked at AlUson. ''Until tomorrow/* he said to her and followed Albert into the corridor.

Looking at the closed door, Allison smiled. Breakfast, she thought. Not my best time of day, but a nice time to begin. And I get better as the day goes on; by the time we have dinner together, Til be totally irresistible.

"For your cousin," Ben said at the breakfast table, and handed a box to Allison with Patricia's vase nestled in tissue paper inside.

Puzzled, she looked at it, and then at Ben. "It wasn*t really stolen? Or you found it. Do you solve all your thefts so eas-Uyr

"We don't have many, and our job is to solve them."

She waited. "And who is the villain?"

"One of the maids. We're still looking into it."

Allison let it drop; he wasn't ready to talk about it. The waiter came to take their order, and Ben met his thinly veiled surprise with a flat look. There would be talk in the employees' lounge about Ben Gardner and Felix Salinger's daughter, but it wouldn't last long and it couldn't hurt him. The staff paid almost no attention to the Salingers of Boston, so long as their salaries were good and they were left akme in the dmiy workings of the hotel they considered almost their own.