“Don’t cry,” Lizzie crawled onto the bed and gave the woman a hug. “I know this isn’t exactly how you planned it, but I can tell you the ballroom is beautiful. I can take you to see it if you would like, and we can get you dressed in my office. It is cooler down there and you won’t have to worry about the stairs with your dress.”
Stella looked unconvinced but nodded. They gathered her make-up, jewelry, and garment bag. Lizzie found Mrs. Harris in the next room and offered to help her downstairs as well. Before heading down Lizzie called Stephen on the radio to see how things were going with the groom.
“He’s nervous,” Stephen reported, “but what groom isn’t? I could take him and the groomsmen to the locker room to get ready.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll escort the bridesmaids to the ladies locker room as well.” Lizzie spoke to the bridesmaids and made sure they had everything they would need to get ready before leading them down the stairs. They hung the wedding gown from Jonathan’s door before Lizzie escorted them to the conference room. The curtains had been pulled open to allow the weak sunlight to cast the room in a twilight-like glow. Stella gasped at the transformation the room had undergone. She walked in a complete circle taking it all in.
“Now, do you still want to cancel the wedding?” Lizzie asked.
“No, this is beautiful.” Stella’s face beamed.
When they returned to the office, Mrs. Harris worked frantically to pin up Stella’s hair as the clock raced toward two. Stephen reported Naveen and the groomsmen were ready and he was escorting them to the ballroom.
“Don’t worry, they can’t start without us,” Lizzie reassured Stella. Mrs. Harris took a sip from the glass of wine Lizzie brought her, before attempting to pin her daughter’s hair again. With the last hair in place, Mrs. Harris stood back to admire her daughter.
“I think we’re ready,” Stella said.
Lizzie radioed Stephen they were on their way. In the lobby, they passed several guests who had ventured out of their rooms. They clapped as the bride passed, filling Lizzie with pride. They reached the ballroom where the bridesmaids and groomsmen waited outside the closed doors.
“I’ll get your father,” Lizzie said. She slipped into the ballroom where the guests were already seated. The flickering candles diminished the large ballroom into an intimate chapel. Mr. Harris stood at the front of the room with the minister. Lizzie waved for him and radioed Stephen who was now in charge of the wedding music.
“After I’m outside count to twenty then start the music,” she instructed.
“Roger that,” Stephen replied.
Lizzie saw him smile and knew he was enjoying this as much as she was. Back in the hallway, she lined up the bridesmaids and groomsmen behind Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Singh. The music started as Lizzie pulled open the door for the two mothers. They walked down the aisle arm in arm.
The bridesmaids, wearing traditional saris in a deep purple, were escorted by the groomsmen wearing black brocade Jodhpuri suits. As the music changed to the wedding march, Stella squeezed her father’s hand. All eyes turned to face her. She wore a long, fitted, white gown embroidered with gold thread in an intricate pattern of flowers and stars. Her dark hair was swept up in a French twist, with curling tendrils hanging loose around her face.
Lizzie felt butterflies in her own stomach as she watched Stella march toward the altar, her steps precise. As she closed the ballroom doors, she checked in with Chef Gustave on the radio and took a place at the back of the room.
CHAPTER FORTY
Laughter tickled Edward’s ears as he sat in his study. For the past hour, the sound had filtered down the hallway to him as Jeffrey and Jacquelyn talked in the living room, but he refused to budge from his place and join them. He tried to read a report from his assistant about the week’s activity, but couldn’t stop thinking about how Jeffrey had betrayed him, turned his back on all his family had built.
He tossed the report onto the coffee table and strode to the bar where he poured himself a glass of scotch. He reveled in the danger of the drink, knowing Jacquelyn would berate him if she knew. He swirled the rich golden liquid in the glass as he walked to a bookcase filled with photos. He reached for one of himself and Jeffrey at the site of the first property he’d acquired after his own father’s death.
Jeffrey was only three at the time. In the photo, Jeffrey looked at his father adoringly. Edward remembered his son telling him he wanted to be just like daddy when he grew up. He returned the photo to the shelf and picked up another, this one of Jeffrey at his college graduation. He’d graduated at the top of his class. In this one, Edward gazed adoringly at his son. All his hopes and dreams were embodied in his grown son. Bitterness washed over him as he wished Jeffrey had not been an only child; that he had another child who could carry on the family legacy.
He studied the shelves until he found another photo, one of Camylle and Jeffrey only a few months after they started dating. It was the first time he and Jacquelyn had met her. Jeffrey had brought her to the family’s Memorial Day picnic, confiding in his father that he believed she was the one. Edward remembered the sparkle in his son’s eyes, the smile he had whenever he spoke of her. In this photo Jeffrey and Camylle had been caught unaware, Camylle’s head rested on Jeffrey’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Even now, Edward could see the look in Jeffrey’s eyes, the look of a man in love. He finished off the scotch and set the glass on the bookcase.
“Why don’t you join us in the living room?” Jacquelyn’s gentle voice startled Edward. He turned to find his wife leaning against the door watching him. Her eyes were kind; her eyes had first attracted him all those years ago.
“I’m tired, I was just considering retiring for the evening,” he said without meeting her gaze.
“Edward, please.”
“Aren’t you the one always telling me I shouldn’t get excited? I would think you’d be happy I’m getting rest.” He tried to sound angry, but couldn’t muster any real feeling. Truth was, a part of him wanted to visit with his son, to talk of the things he’d done, but he was too proud to admit that, even to himself.
“The offer stands if you change your mind.” Jacquelyn stepped forward to kiss her husband on the cheek before slipping out of the room. He popped his head out the door and watched her retreat down the hall. When she disappeared, he followed, positioning himself just shy of the arch leading into the living room.
“I told you he wouldn’t come,” he heard Jeffrey say.
“He said he was going to bed. How about we make some popcorn and watch a movie while we still have power.” Her enthusiasm was forced, but Jeffrey must have agreed as Edward heard the rustle of her steps moving toward the kitchen. He slid along the wall and peeked around the corner. He caught sight of Jeffrey sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine.
“Do you want cheesy popcorn or plain butter?” Jacquelyn called.
“Plain butter is fine,” Jeffrey said. He dropped the magazine on the table and reclined on the couch, his head resting along the back.
Here in the center of the house the storm seemed far away. The wind didn’t howl, the rain didn’t beat on the windowpanes. The room was so quiet Edward could hear his son’s breathing. He remembered the nights he’d sat by his crib, watching his tiny chest rise and fall, arms raised above his head, fingers curled inward. He’d been a beautiful baby.
Jacquelyn returned carrying a tray with two large glasses of soda and a bowl of popcorn. Edward’s nostrils flared at the buttery aroma. He felt his stomach rumble and pulled himself back into the shadows hoping his family had not heard it.
“Do you know which movie you’d like to watch?” Jacquelyn asked as she set the tray down.
“Why don’t you choose?” Jeffrey grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoveled it into his mouth. Jacquelyn opened a cabinet near the television and browsed the rows of DVDs. She pulled one out, inserted the disk into the player, and returned to the couch. Jeffrey fiddled with the remotes until he found
the right settings and started the movie.
When Edward’s legs began to ache, he considered joining them on the couch. Instead, he returned to his study and wheeled the desk chair back to his hiding place. He lowered himself into the chair, careful of the creaking he knew it made when he leaned back. Perched on the edge of the seat he peered around the corner. The opening title appeared, For Love or Money.
“I don’t think I’ve seen this,” Jeffrey said.
“I think you’ll enjoy it,” Jacquelyn replied and Edward could picture the knowing smile she gave her son. Edward scooted back in his chair, a high-pitched squeak of metal giving him away. He tensed waiting for Jacquelyn or Jeffrey to turn and discover him. The seconds stretched into a minute without any movement from the couch. Slowly he let out a sigh of relief.
The movie was about a New York City concierge who dreams of opening his own upscale hotel but falls in love with a girl along the way. The girl just happens to be the mistress of his biggest investor and he must decide what’s more important, love or money. By the end of the movie, Edward knew why his wife had chosen it. She knew all along that he was spying on them. She was sending him a message.
The lights dimmed and rose again in several waves before sputtering out completely. The pillar candles Jacquelyn had lit at the start of the movie provided two small circles of light. She reached for some matches and moved around the room igniting more candles.
Jeffrey yawned. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”
“It’s the weather.” Jacquelyn stifled a yawn herself. “I’m going to check on your father.” She picked up a plate with a large blue candle and turned to the hallway. She followed the wheel tracks on the carpet to the study where she found Edward lying on the couch, eyes closed.
“I hope you enjoyed the movie.” Jacquelyn set the candle on the desk and rummaged in the top drawer for another. She pulled two stubby tapers out and lit them before shoving them into a pair of silver candlestick holders. “I’m going to bed. If you don’t want to sleep in here, I suggest you join me before these burn out.”
Edward didn’t respond, but she saw his eyelids flutter. Taking the plated pillar candle Jacquelyn returned to the living room where Jeffrey was cleaning up the crumpled napkins and errant kernels of corn that had dropped onto the couch and returning the coasters to the small wooden box they were stored in. She watched him with pride. She knew she had raised a fine young man, even if he’d had some problems. Having him back in the house filled her with joy.
“Do you want me to make up your room?” she asked when he noticed her gazing at him.
“You don’t need to do that. Sheets still in the same place?”
She nodded and reached for the tray. “I’ll take this to the kitchen then.” She touched his cheek tenderly. “Good night.”
Jeffrey smiled. “Night, mom.” He lifted one of the candles and turned toward the west wing of the house. She watched the circle of light fade and disappear before retreating to the kitchen with the dirty dishes.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Water seeped under the glass front doors of Hotel Lago running into piles of drenched towels that lay in a semi-circle attempting to keep it from flowing into the lobby. Lizzie pushed a laundry cart out of the service hallway and gathered the wet mess. Stephen tottered along behind her balancing a pile of fresh towels.
“Remind me again why we are doing this,” he said, watching the new linens absorb the pooled of water.
“Do you want to be sloshing around in several inches of water the rest of the day?”
They loaded the wet towels into the cart and Lizzie struggled to push it toward the service door. Stephen came to her side and helped maneuver the cart down the hall. They parked it at the loading bay doors.
She pushed the doors open and stepped outside. The rain had slackened some allowing her to see the building across the street for the first time in many hours. As far as she could see, clouds obscured the sky.
She yawned. “This has got to stop soon.”
“Have you gotten any sleep?” Stephen asked.
“A couple of hours maybe.”
“Why don’t you take a break, go lie down somewhere? I can handle things for a little while.”
She offered him a grateful smile. “Are you sure?”
He gave her a playful push. “Go, I got this under control.”
“I’ll be in Jonathan’s office if you need me.” She trudged to the front desk hoping to avoid any early rising guests. Her watch read six o’clock, she figured most guests would stay in bed until at least eight. At her desk, she pulled her suitcase out and removed her yoga mat, unfurled it on the office floor, pulled a blanket from the back of Jonathan’s chair and curled up. She lay there reviewing the events of the last two and half days but fell asleep before any clear thoughts could form.
The cavernous lobby was quiet except for the occasional howl of wind or spatter of rain tossed against the large windows as Stephen settled himself behind the front desk waiting for the hotel to awaken. Now that he was in charge, he was unsure of what to do, so he shuffled several papers and tidied up the desk. He heard the slapping of flip-flops on the marble floor and looked up to see Chef Gustave coming toward him.
“Where’s Lizzie?” the chef demanded.
“She’s sleeping,” Stephen replied, his fear of the chef rising in his throat.
“I need to talk to her. We have a problem.”
“Maybe I can help.” He tried to remember what Lizzie had been teaching him.
“You? What do you know?” Chef Gustave laughed.
“What is the problem?” Stephen stood, drawing himself up to his full five foot, eight-inch height; his eyes level with the chef’s chin.
Chef Gustave shook his head. “We do not have enough cereal to feed everyone this morning and the milk is limited as well.”
Stephen clenched and unclenched his hands, his anxiety growing. “Lizzie mentioned something about Tammy ordering several cases of granola bars, she was going to use them in box lunches for the school group staying here next week. I think they came in Friday morning. Have we already used those?”
Chef Gustave gave him a surprised look. “They’re not in the kitchen.”
“Maybe they’re in her office.” Stephen disappeared and emerged a moment later with a set of keys. The men set off across the lobby to Tammy’s office.
Stephen tried several keys before finding the right one. The room was pitch black. Both men panned their flashlights around the room without finding anything that resembled boxes of granola bars.
“There’s nothing here. Maybe now we can wake Lizzie,” Chef Gustave spat. Stephen recoiled from the obvious disgust in the man’s voice.
“I’m sure they are here.” Stephen ran down the hallway stopping to inspect several pallets that stood by the loading bay. He walked around each one shining his light on every box long enough to read the label. His heart leaped when he reached the last stack.
“Here,” Stephen cried. Chef Gustave hurried over, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
“There must be a few hundred bars here.” Stephen lifted several boxes and handed them to the chef.
“Good work,” Chef Gustave managed to mutter. The two men carried the packages to the galley. “The staff will receive the granola bars instead of cereal, children will get smaller portions, and we will give everyone only a quarter of a cup of milk.”
Stephen gathered the skeleton crew together for their morning meal, setting aside enough for Lizzie, and returned to the front desk feeling triumphant.
A few minutes after eight Stephen heard the office door open. He turned to find Lizzie staggering out to the desk. She rubbed her eyes as he filled her in on the change in plans for breakfast. She gave him a smile of approval.
“I told you Chef isn’t as scary as he seems,” she said. “I hope this storm passes soon. I don’t know how much longer people can take being cooped up in here.”
As if to support her f
ear, a group of guests spilled out of the stairwell, their shouts echoing around the empty lobby. A short, stooped man with wispy gray hair and glasses led the pack, followed closely by a woman with dark hair and large brown eyes. She screeched in a language Stephen didn’t recognize.
Stephen watched Lizzie meet the mob and approach the couple; speaking so low he couldn’t hear her from where he stood, rooted behind the desk. The woman pushed Lizzie and the older man aside and continued her march toward Stephen. The pack behind her all appeared to be related. He didn’t remember checking them in and the closer she drew the more anxious he felt. Lizzie now trailed the pack.
“I want out of here,” the woman demanded. Her voice was strident, her English laced with a thick Eastern European accent, and Stephen remembered alphabetizing the registration cards during the night. There had been a family from the Czech Republic. He tried to appear calm but the pounding of his heart made it hard for him to breathe normally. The woman shook her fist at him.
“Mrs. Valislyvich, I know you want to leave, but this is a serious storm.” Stephen spoke with care, enunciating each word, unsure if she understood anything.
“You no keep me here!” The rest of the family shouted something in Czech as they piled up behind the woman.
“Sshh,” he hissed, lifting a finger to his lips. The shouts continued and he noticed groggy guests beginning to enter the lobby to see what the commotion was about. Desperate to gain control he stuck two fingers in his mouth and rent the air with a sharp whistle. The family before him was stunned into silence.
“I understand you want to leave,” he said. “So do I, but it is not safe. Please go to the dining room and we will see what news we can find out.”
The woman opened her mouth again, but the stooped man took her by the hand and pulled her toward the dining room. The rest of the family wavered a moment then followed.
Stephen’s legs shook, threatening to give out from under him. He looked up and saw Lizzie giving him a thumbs up from the door to the restaurant. More guests were milling around now, some heading to breakfast, others pressing their faces against the windows. He slipped into the office and found the weather radio. He turned it on hoping for good news.