‘With your holdings in the bank, William, you could appoint three more members of the board and get yourself comfortably elected.’
William dismissed the idea as unworthy of consideration. He wanted to become chairman solely on merit. That, after all, was how his father had gained the position, and he knew that it was nothing less than Kate would expect of him.
In January 1932, Alan Lloyd circulated to every board member notice of a meeting that would be held on his sixty-fifth birthday. Its sole purpose, he informed them, was to elect his successor. As the day for the crucial meeting drew nearer, Matthew found himself carrying the investment department almost single-handedly, while William devoted himself to his campaign to capture the chairmanship.
When Abel arrived in New York, the first thing he did was to look up George Novak. He was not surprised to find him out of work and living in a garret on East Third Street. Abel had forgotten what the houses in this neighbourhood, some shared by twenty families, were like. The smell of stale food permeated every room, toilets didn’t flush and beds were slept in by at least three different people every twenty-four hours. The bakery had been closed down, and George’s uncle was now employed in a large mill on the outskirts of New York. The mill couldn’t afford to take on George as well. When Abel offered him a job, George leapt at the chance to join his old friend at the Richmond Group - in any capacity.
Abel recruited several other Poles who George assured him would work any hours, and despite their personal difficulties were scrupulously honest, among them a pastry chef, a desk clerk and a headwaiter. Most hotels on the East Coast had cut their staff to a bare minimum, which had made it easy for him to pick up experienced people, three of whom had worked with him at the Plaza.
The following week, Abel and George set out on a tour of all the hotels in the group. Abel asked Zaphia to join them, even offering her the chance to work in any hotel she chose, but she refused to leave Chicago, the only place in America where she felt at home. As a compromise, she moved across to Abel’s rooms at the Richmond annexe whenever he was in Chicago. George, who had acquired middle-class morals along with his American citizenship, pressed the advantages of matrimony on Abel, although he didn’t seem to have heeded the advice himself.
It came as no surprise to Abel that the other hotels in the group were still being incompetently, and in most cases dishonestly, run, but most of the staff, fearful for their jobs in a time of widespread unemployment, welcomed him as the potential saviour of the group’s fortunes. He did not find it necessary to fire staff in the grand manner he had adopted when he had first arrived in Chicago. In some cases Abel found that simply moving personnel from one hotel to another stopped the rot. Most of those who knew of his reputation and feared the reprisals had already departed. But some heads still had to roll, and they were invariably attached to the necks of employees who had worked for the group for years and who could not, or would not, change their ways simply because Davis Leroy was no longer in charge.
All seventeen members of the board were present to celebrate Alan Lloyd’s sixty-fifth birthday. The meeting was opened by the chairman, who delivered a farewell speech lasting only fourteen minutes, which William thought would never come to an end. Tony Simmons was nervously tapping a yellow legal pad with his pen, occasionally glancing across at William. Neither was listening to Alan’s words. At last Alan sat down, to loud applause, or as loud as is appropriate for sixteen Boston bankers. When the clapping had died away, Alan rose for the last time as chairman of Kane and Cabot.
‘And now, gentlemen, we must elect my successor. The board is presented with two outstanding candidates, the chairman of our overseas division, Mr Tony Simmons, and the director of the American investment department, Mr William Kane. They are both well known to you, gentlemen, and I have no intention of speaking at length on their respective merits. Instead I have invited each candidate to address the board on his plans for the future of Kane and Cabot were he to be elected chairman.’
William rose first, as had been decided the previous day by the toss of a coin. He spoke for twenty minutes, explaining in detail that it would be his intention to broaden the bank’s base by moving into fields where Kane and Cabot had not previously ventured. He also wanted to forge stronger links with New York, and mentioned the possibility of opening a holding company that specialized in commercial banking. Some of the older board members shook their heads, making no attempt to hide their disapproval. He finished by saying that he wanted the bank to expand, challenging the new generation of financiers now leading America. He hoped that Kane and Cabot would enter the second half of the twentieth century as one of the largest financial institutions in the country. When he sat down he was buoyed by the murmurs of approbation, and he leaned back to listen to his rival’s speech.
When Tony Simmons rose, he took a far more conservative line, and emphasized his age and experience, which William accepted was his trump card. The bank should consolidate its position for the next few years, he said, moving only into carefully selected investments, and sticking to the traditional modes of banking that had earned the bank the reputation it currently enjoyed. He had learned his lesson during the crash of ‘29, and his main concern, he added - to laughter - was to be certain that Kane and Cabot entered the second half of the twentieth century. When Simmons sat down, William had no way of knowing in whose favour the board might swing, though he believed the majority would be more inclined to opt for expansion than standing still.
Alan Lloyd informed the directors that neither he nor the two contestants would be voting. The other fourteen members were passed ballot papers, which they duly filled in and handed back to Alan, who began to count them slowly. William found he could not look up from his doodle-covered pad, which also bore the imprint of his sweating hand. When Alan had completed the task of counting, a hush came over the boardroom.
He announced six votes for Kane and six votes for Simmons, with two abstentions. A babble of conversation broke out around the table, and Alan called for order. William took a deep breath in the silence that followed, not knowing what the chairman would do next.
Alan Lloyd paused before saying, ‘I feel that the appropriate course of action, given the circumstances, is to take a second vote. If either of the members who abstained on the first ballot now finds himself able to support a candidate, that might give one of the contestants an overall majority.’
The little slips were passed out again. William could not bear even to watch this time, although he could not avoid hearing the steel-nibbed pens as they scratched their votes. Once again the ballots were returned to Alan Lloyd. Once again he opened them slowly one by one, but this time he called out the votes.
‘William Kane. Tony Simmons. Tony Simmons. Tony Simmons.’
Three votes to one for Simmons.
‘William Kane. William Kane. Tony Simmons. William Kane. William Kane. William Kane.’
Six votes to four in favour of William.
‘Tony Simmons. Tony Simmons. William Kane.’
Seven votes to six in favour of William. It seemed to William that Alan took a lifetime to open the final voting slip.
‘Tony Simmons. The vote is seven each, gentlemen.’
Although Alan had never told anyone whom he supported for the chair, everyone in the room knew that he would now have to cast the deciding vote.
‘As the voting has twice resulted in a dead heat, and since I assume that no member of the board is likely to change his mind, I must cast my vote for the candidate I feel is best qualified to succeed me as chairman of Kane and Cabot. That candidate is Tony Simmons.’
William could not believe what he’d heard, and Simmons looked almost as shocked. He rose from his seat to a round of applause, changed places with Alan Lloyd at the head of the table, and addressed the board of Kane and Cabot for the first time as the bank’s chairman. He thanked the board for their support, and praised William for not taking advantage of his strong shareholding and fami
ly history with the bank to try to influence the vote. He invited William to be deputy chairman, and suggested that Matthew Lester should take Alan Lloyd’s place on the board; both proposals received unanimous support.
William’s only thought was that if he had insisted that Matthew be appointed to the board when he first joined the bank, he would now be chairman.
By the end of his first year as president, the Richmond Group was operating with only half the staff it had employed in 1929, but still showed a net loss of a little over $100,000. Few employees left voluntarily, and not just because they feared they wouldn’t find another job, but because they now believed in the future of the Group.
Abel set himself the target of breaking even in 1932. He felt that the only way he could achieve this was to let every manager in the group take the responsibility for his own hotel, offering them a share in the profits, much as Davis Leroy had done when Abel had first come to the Chicago Richmond.
For several months he spent his time travelling from hotel to hotel, never staying in any of them for more than a few days. He did not allow anyone, other than the faithful George, his surrogate eyes and ears in Chicago, to know which hotel he might turn up at next. He broke this exhausting routine only to spend the occasional night with Zaphia, or to visit Curtis Fenton at the bank.
After a full assessment of the group’s financial position, Abel had to make some more unpleasant decisions. The most drastic was to close the hotels, in Mobile and Charleston, that were losing so much money that he feared they would become an insurmountable drain on the rest of the group’s finances. The staff at the other hotels watched the axe fall, and worked even harder. Every time he arrived back at his little office in Chicago there was a clutch of memos demanding immediate attention -burst pipes in washrooms, cockroaches in bedrooms, flashes of temper in kitchens, and the inevitable dissatisfied customer threatening a lawsuit.
Henry Osborne re-entered Abel’s life with a welcome cheque for $750,000 from Great Western Casualty Insurance, once they’d established that there was no evidence to implicate him with any involvement in the fire at the Chicago Richmond. Lieutenant O’Malley’s evidence had proved conclusive, especially when he added that he would be happy to repeat his findings in court. Abel realized he owed the detective more than a milk shake, and was happy to settle with Great Western at what he considered a fair price. Henry Osborne, however, suggested that he hold out for a larger amount, and share a percentage of the difference with him. Abel refused, and lost any respect he had for Osborne. If he was willing to be disloyal to his own company, there wasn’t much doubt that he would have no qualms about working behind Abel’s back when it suited him.
In the spring of 1932 Abel was surprised to receive a letter from Melanie Leroy, more cordial in tone than she had ever been in person. He was flattered, even excited, and called her to make a date for dinner at the Stevens, a choice he regretted the moment they entered the dining room and he saw Zaphia was on duty, looking a little jaded as she came to the end of her shift. Melanie, in contrast, looked ravishing in an orange dress that revealed quite clearly what her body would be like if the peel were removed. He should have taken her to a different restaurant. What had made him choose the Stevens? How could he be so adroit when it came to business matters, and so clumsy in his personal life?
‘It’s wonderful to see you looking so well, Abel,’ Melanie remarked as she took her seat. ‘Of course everybody knows how well you’re doing with the Richmond Group.’
‘The Baron Group,’ said Abel.
Melanie flushed slightly. ‘I didn’t realize you’d changed the name.’
‘Yes, I changed it quite recently,’ lied Abel. He had in fact decided at that very moment that every hotel in the group would be known in future as a Baron hotel. He wondered why he’d never thought of it before.
‘An appropriate name,’ said Melanie, smiling.
Abel was aware that Zaphia was staring at them from the other side of the room, but it was too late to do anything about it.
‘You’re not working?’ he enquired as he scribbled the words ‘Baron Group’ on the back of his menu.
‘No, not at the moment. A woman with a liberal arts degree in this city has to sit around and wait for every man to be employed before she can hope for a job.’
‘If you ever want to work for the Baron Group,’ said Abel, emphasizing the name slightly, ‘you only have to let me know.’
‘No, no,’ said Melanie. ‘I’m just fine.’ She quickly changed the subject to music and the theatre. Talking to her was an unaccustomed and pleasant challenge for Abel; she still teased him, but with intelligence, making him feel more confident in her company than he ever had in the past. They didn’t have coffee until well after eleven, by which time Zaphia had gone off duty. He drove Melanie home to her apartment, and was surprised when she invited him in for a drink. He sat on the sofa while she poured him a prohibited whiskey and put a record on the phonograph.
‘I can’t stay long,’ he said. ‘Busy day tomorrow.’
‘That’s what I’m supposed to say,’ said Melanie. ‘Please don’t rush away. This evening has been such fun - quite like old times.’
She sat down beside him, her dress rising above her knees. Not quite like old times, Abel thought. He made no attempt to resist when she edged towards him. In a few moments he was kissing her - or was she kissing him? His hands wandered onto those legs and then to her breasts, and this time she seemed to respond willingly. It was she who eventually led him by the hand to her bedroom, threw back the coverlet, turned around and asked him to unzip her. Abel obliged in nervous disbelief, and switched out the light. Melanie certainly wasn’t lacking in experience, and she didn’t leave him in any doubt how much she was enjoying herself. After they’d made love, Abel lay awake while Melanie fell asleep in his arms.
In the morning they made love a second time.
‘I shall watch the Baron Group with renewed interest,’ she told him as he began to dress. ‘Not that anyone doubts that it’s going to be a huge success.’
‘Thank you,’ said Abel.
‘Perhaps we might see each other again.’
‘Why not?’ said Abel.
She kissed him on the cheek as a wife might when seeing her husband off to work.
‘I wonder what kind of woman you’ll end up marrying,’ she said innocently as she helped him on with his overcoat.
He looked at her and smiled sweetly. ‘When I make that decision, Melanie, you can be certain I won’t forget your excellent advice.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Melanie coyly.
‘I’ll make sure to find myself a nice Polish girl.’
Abel and Zaphia were married a month later at Holy Trinity Polish Mission. Zaphia’s brother-in-law Janek gave her away, and George was the best man. The reception was held at the Stevens, and the drinking and dancing went on late into the night. George never stopped moving as he battled around the room photographing the guests in every possible permutation and combination. By tradition, each man paid a token sum to dance with Zaphia, and it wasn’t until after a midnight supper of barszcz, pierogi and bigos downed with wine, brandy and Danzig vodka, that Abel and Zaphia were allowed to retire to the bridal suite.
Abel was pleasantly surprised when Curtis Fenton told him the following morning that the reception at the Stevens had been paid for by Mr Maxton, and was to be considered a wedding gift. Abel used the money he had put aside for the reception as the down payment on a little house on Rigg Street.
For the first time in his life Abel owned a home of his own.
PART FOUR
1932-1941
32
WILLIAM DECIDED to take a month’s vacation in England before making any firm decision about his future. He briefly considered resigning from Kane and Cabot, but Matthew convinced him that it would serve no purpose and, in any case, his father would not have approved.
Matthew appeared to take his friend’s defeat even harder
than William. Twice in the following week he arrived at the bank with the obvious signs of a hangover, and left early, with important work unfinished. William let the incidents pass without comment, and on the Friday he invited Matthew to join him and Kate for dinner. Matthew declined, claiming that he had a backlog of work to catch up on. William wouldn’t have given it another thought if he hadn’t seen Matthew dining at the Ritz-Carlton that evening with an attractive woman who William could have sworn was married to one of Kane and Cabot’s departmental managers. Kate didn’t comment, other than to say that Matthew didn’t look very well.
William only hoped that Matthew would be able to cope with two desks while he was away. That was the moment he decided he couldn’t face a whole month in England without Kate, and suggested she join him for the trip.
‘A month abroad with a strange man?’ she said, placing a hand coyly over her lips. ‘What would your grandmothers have thought?’
‘That you are nothing more than a wanton hussy.’
William and Kate sailed on the Mauretania, sleeping in separate cabins. Once they had settled into the Savoy, in separate rooms, in fact on separate floors, William reported to the London branch of Kane and Cabot in Lombard Street, and fulfilled the ostensible purpose of his trip by making a thorough review of the bank’s European activities. Morale was high, and he discovered that Tony Simmons had been well liked and admired by the London staff, so there was little left for William to do but murmur his approval.