Inheritance (42 page)

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Chapter 17

THE Ninety-Fifth restaurant hovers over Chicago like a great eagle, ninety-five stories above the city at the top of the sloping John Hancock Center. From that lofty jerch the lights of the city, orange and garish fix)m the ground, )ecome amber garlands laced together in grids and long diago-lal strokes that stretch from the horizon to the dark, restless vat&TS of Lake Michigan. And it was at the top of the Han-»ck that Wes Currier hosted cocktails and dinner for two lundred to celebrate the New Year and, more importantly, the )urchase of the Chicago Salinger by the OWL Development [Corporation.

The name was Laura's idea. Currier had objected. "It sounds like a joke, and that's a red flag to bankers when you x)me to them for financing. You want something serious and »nservative and faintly dull."

"I like it," Laura said firmly. "Especially because it is a oke, my joke, and it's important to me."

Currier contemplated her. "OW from Owen," he said after a noment. "And L from Laura. I can see why you like it, but his isn't a time for games; the stakes are too big."

"Please, Wes," she said. "Symbols are important to me. I'd ike to keep this one." And so the name stayed.

Once he accepted OWL Development, Currier helped ^ura through the legal steps that made the company a corpo-ation, and Sien he arranged the financing for the purchase of he hotel by investing nine million dollars.

Judith Michael

The money was divided. Currier bought fifty percent of the equity in the hotel with four and a half million dollars, loaning Laura another four and a half million to buy the other fifty percent. Their investments also gave each of them fifty percent of OWL Development Corporation. So Laura's first debt was to Currier, for four and a half million dollars.

Currier arranged his travels so that once Laura moved to Chicago he was frequently with her, involved with every step of her work. They had spent two weekends in New York after their first one, and then Laura began traveling between Chicago and Damton's, where she was helping Kelly and John train a new assistant manager. Currier and Laura had hired an architect, and when she was in Chicago she worked with him on drawing blueprints for the renovation of the hotel from the detailed plans she and Owen had worked on together. And then Currier and Laura took the blueprints to a banker he knew well, who approved the mortgage and construction loans for the purchase and renovation of the Chicago Salinger by the OWL Development Corporation. So Laura's second debt was to the bank, for twenty million dollars.

Once the money became available. Currier had his assistant take over the negotiations to purchase the hotel so Laura's name would be kept out of it.

It was well known that Felix had been seeking a buyer for the hotel since early summer, even before the court case over his father's will was settled. But two potential purchasers had bought other buildings, and by late fall he was angry at his Realtor, short with his banker, and impatient with what he called the dead Chicago real estate market; that was well known, too. And so, when Currier's assistant negotiated with Felix's Chicago Realtor, he was able to buy the Chicago Salinger for nine million dollars rather than the ten Currier had thought it would cost, with immediate possession; the building had been empty since Felix closed it six months earlier.

Laura's name did not appear in any of the negotiations, nor on the purchase documents. Her Chicago lawyer represented her at the meetings with Felix's Chicago lawyer, everything

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was done in the name of OWL Development, and when Currier introduced her to Chicago financiers, he told them she was the manager of OWL Development's hotel. She knew that Felix would find out eventually who owned the corporation, but for now it was a secret. And she intended to keep it a secret for as long as possible, while she tried to think of ways to get control of Owen's other hotels.

"You understand the name of the hotel must be changed," Felix's attorney told Laura's attorney as they signed dozens of documents for their respective employers. "OWL Development cannot use the Salinger name at any time."

"We have no intention of doing so," he replied.

"And what will the new name be?" Felix's lawyer asked idly.

"It hasn't been chosen yet."

It had been chosen, but only Currier and Laura knew it. From the beginning, she had known it would be called The Beacon Hill. And every hotel she managed to buy, from then on, would be given the same name. The only difference among them would be the name of the city.

So, on Currier's orders, the chef of the Ninety-Fifth baked a cake for dessert on New Year's Eve in the shape of the old Chicago Salinger, with Chicago Beacon Hill lettered on the marquee in gold, and an owl perched protectively on the roof. The cake stood on a table in the foyer; it was the first thing guests saw when they arrived at ten o'clock. Men in black tie and sleek women with gems sparkling at their throats and ears hovered over the square, white-icinged edifice like children at a toy-store window, and they had to tear themselves away to greet their host who stood with Laura and Clay at the entrance to the dining room.

Clay was whispering to Laura. *The owl was my idea, but that's just between us. Wes thought up the gold letters. He thinks of gold at the drop of a hat."

"It's very sweet," Laura murmured while waiting for another stranger to come forward to be introduced. "Thank you. Clay."

"A small gesture," he responded modestly. "Since I'm going to be the assistant manager of the very posh Chicago Beacon Hill, I have to keep my boss happy." He caught

Judith Michael

Myma's eye across the room and winked at her. He was feeling very good.

"Laura, may I present—^" Currier said, introducing her to one of his Chicago friends as the manager of the future Chicago Beacon Hill, and Laura shook hands and smiled.

"Lovely, my dear. Exquisite," the guest said, holding her hand in his and peering up into her face. "You, too, Wes; you look fine. Wish I looked as spiffy as you in black tie, instead of like a dead cockatoo with the color washed out. You really carry it off. I like your lady. I do like your lady." He tilted his head, appraising her, and Currier, for a moment, saw Laura through the other man's eyes.

She looked lovelier than at any time in the six months he had known her, not quite as thin, though still thinner than he preferred, and her face more lively, though too often still reserved, even distant, when what he wanted to see there was pleasure, delight, laughter—and love. She wore a close-fitting dress of white satin, long-sleeved, the neckline plunging in a deep V, with a necklace of irregulariy shaped amethysts, and, at the point of the neckline, a pin that was a single iris carved of blue-violet opal with a center of gold. Currier had given enough jewelry to his women to know a good piece when he saw one, and Laura's pin was very fine. He had not asked about it—it was a rule of his never to ask where a woman's jewelry came from—but Laura had told him Owen had given it to her. As a gift, it could not be compared with the inheritance he had left her, but because it was more intimate it made clear to Currier, more than anything else, the depth of Owen Salinger's love.

He put his arm aroimd Laura's waist with a proprietary gesture that no one could miss. And when Laura leaned back slightly against him he felt the swell of pride and possession that he had not felt for a woman for a long time. He wanted to give her everything, do everything for her, take every burden from her and solve every dilenmia so she had nothing to do but lean against him and shed, forever, the guarded look that froze her features and kept her just this side of true beauty.

"Well, now, Wes." The guest, seeing Currier's arm around Laura's waist, finally relinquished her hand. "Good to see you again. You in town for long? How about lunch?"

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They made their arrangements while Laura looked through the doorway at the wall of windows in the dining room. When the guest moved on, she said, "Would anyone mind if we took time out to look at the view?"

"It*s your party; you do what you want. Anyway, I think everyone is here." His arm still around her, he led her into the dining room where groups of people stood among the tables set with crystal and silver-rimmed china, with a spray of hibiscus in the center of each, and individual flowers at the women's place settings. Most of the guests had congregated in the dimly lit Sybaris Lounge a few steps up from the main room, where a pianist played show tunes and two bartenders mixed drinks. But Laura was drawn to the windows, almost floor to ceiling, giving a panorama of orange street lights, blue office lights and white apartment lights, like a glittering toy city sharply sliced off along the side that was ti^e black expanse of the lake.

**You*re part of it now," Currier said. He was standing behind her, his hand just below her breast. "And you'll make it yours."

Laura leaned back as she had befoiie, letting herself rest against his solid strength. He had none of Paul's lean, nervous, searching energy; almost twice Paul's age, and self-made, he was methodical and rock-like, self-directed and absolutely sure of himself.

And if he was sometimes too domineering for Laura's independence, too deliberate for her impatience, too predictable for her enjoyment of the complexities in people, he was a powerful friend, steady and trustworthy. And she knew nothing was more important or valuable in fiie long run, especially if she ever wanted someone to whom to cling.

He was even good for Clay, Laura thought, glancing across the room at her brother, who was lifting his champagne glass in a toast with Myma, Currier had little tolerance for young people who did not meet his standards of maturity and responsibility, but because of her he was teaching Clay some of the mysteries of international banking and trade, and Clay, fascinated by the size of the deals if nothing else, was absorbing it all. And, for Laura, he was doing even more: he was studying.

Judith Michael

For the first time Clay was willing to read a book, or a dozen books if that was what Laura wanted, and he even submitted when she quizzed him on what he read. He did most of the things she told him because she had promised him the assistant manager's job in the new hotel, but only if he could learn enough, fast enough, adding to what he had learned in Boston and Philadelphia and at Damton's. So he read and studied and didn't mind it too much, partly because of the job and Laura's pride in him, but also—he had to admit it—because Myma was really proud of him and kept telling him so. "I'll make you a tycoon yet," she exulted, and Clay didn't mind her taking the credit for his new job because as soon as she heard about it she became more passionate than ever.

For what was probably the first time ever. Clay wasn't envying anybody; he didn't feel he was just marking time until something bigger came along. I guess I'm happy, he thought.

Everyone is happy, Laura reflected, looking again at the lights of Chicago and listening to the piano music weaving through the conversations in the restaurant. Everyone is happy. In her mind she saw Owen's smile and felt the touch of his hand on her hair. Dear Owen, this is your party; you should be here to see your dreams come true.

"You're a long way off," Currier said, his Ups close to her ear. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"About dreams," she replied. She put her hand on his, her fingers lying along his short, strong ones. "Owen's and mine."

"And mine," he said. "Don't shut me out, Laura."

"I won't."

But, still, it was Owen's dream, it had been theirs together, and she longed for him. She wished she could watch him . move among the guests, towering over them, his mustache f waving as he spoke, his eyes weighing everyone, memorizing their quirks and phrases so he and Laura could joke about the party later, as they had done so many times in Beacon Hill and at the Cape.

But that was another dream he had: to share his last years with someone he loved and could teach, who would make his other dreams real after he was gone. He died believing that. I did that for him.

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And so, at midnight, when Currier kissed her she smiled at him with an openness he had not seen before. "H^py New Year, Wes. With ail the wonderful things we have to look forward to."

"Together," he added. "Everything. Togetiier." And when they kissed again, he thought she understood he was talking about marriage.

Laura didn't realize it until late the next morning, the first day of the new year, as she woke slowly in her suite in Chicago's Mayfair Regent. Her eyes still closed, she reviewed the paurty in her mind. She felt again her flush of excitement as the guests toasted her and she stood alone beside the piano, a few steps above them, her white satin dress catching the hght and glowing almost like a blue-white diamond. She saw again Clay watching Myma with mesmerized eyes, the architect circulating among the guests talking widi professional satisfaction about the brilliant hotel they would soon create, the investors who, even at a party, tal^d about cost per room and compared die Beacon Hill to other hotels recently renovated on Chicago's Gold Coast. And she remembered the New Year kiss she had shared with Currier, passionate and affectionate, with thoughts of the future. Together.

She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the lake, deep blue under a clear, cold January sky. The room was cool, and Laura stretched out in the warm bed, enveloped in the comfort of the room's muted colors and soft fabrics. Currier had rented the suite for a month so she could stay there while looking for a place to live. The rooms overlooked the deep curve of the Oak Street Beach and the Outer Drive, stretching north, one side bordered with beaches, parks, and the high waves of Lake Michigan, the other lined with a solid wall, miles long, of apartment buildings. Gazing at them from the elegance of her room, Laura thought of the Beacon Hill. She couldn't believe Currier assumed she would give it up to marry him. She moved restlessly. He must know she wouldn't. Which meant he thought they would be married and she would stay with the hotel. Well, why shouldn't she do that? Because he would want her to travel with him and, slowly, a trip at a time,