'How long do you think you'll be away this time, Abel?'
'Only three weeks. I want to check that those Arabs aren't robbing me blind and then go on to Turkey to open the Istanbul Baron. I think Ill take in London and Paris on the way.'
George poured some more champagne.
Abel had to spend - three more days in London than he had originally anticipated, trying to sort out the hotel's problems, with a manager who kept blaming everything on the British unions. The London Baron had turned out to be one of Abel's few failures, although he never could put his finger on why the hotel continually lost money. He would have considered closing it, but the Baron Group had to have a presence in England's capital city, so once again he fired the manager and made a new appointment.
Paris presented a striking contrast. The hotel was one of his most successful in Europe, and he'd once admitted to Florentyna, as reluctantly as a parent admits to having a favourite child, that the Paris Baron was his favourite hotel. Abel found everything on the Boulevard Raspail well organised and spent only two days in Paris before flying on to the Middle East.
Abel now had sites in five of the Persian Gulf States, but only the Riyadh Baron had actually started construction. If he'd been a younger man, Abel would have stayed in the Middle East for a couple of years himself and sorted the Arabs out. But he couldn't abide the sand, the heat, and never being certain when he could order a whisky. He thought he must be getting older, because he couldn't stand the natives either. He left them to one of his young assistant vice - presidents, who had been told that he would only be allowed to return and manage the infidels in America once Abel was sure he had proved a succm with the holy and blessed ones from the Middle East.
He left the poor assistant vice - president in the richest private hell in the world and flew on to Turkey.
Abel had visited Turkey several times during the past few years to watch the progress of the Istanbul Baron. For Abel, there would always be something special about Constantinople, as he remembered the city. He was looking forward to opening a Baron in the country he had left to start a new life in America.
Vkfle he was unpacking his suitcase in yet another Presidential Suite, Abel found fifteen invitations awaiting his reply. There were always several invitations about the time of a hotel opening; a galaxy of freeloaders who wanted to be invited to any opening night party appeared on the scene as if by magic. On this occasion, however, two of the dinner invitations came as an agreeable surprise to Abel from men who certainly could not be classified as freeloaders: namely the ambassadors of America and Britain. The invitation to the old British embassy was particularly irresistible as he had not been inside the building for nearly forty years.
That evening, Abel dined as the guest of Sir Bernard Burrows, Her Majesty's Ambassador to Turkey. To his surprise he found that he had been placed at the right of the ambassador's wife, a privilege Abel had never been afforded in any other embassy in the past. When the dinner was over, he observed the quaint English tradition of the ladies leaving the room while the gentlemen sat alone to smoke cigars and drink port or brandy.
Abel was invited to join the American ambassador, Fletcher Warren, for port in Sir Bernard's study. Sir Bernard was taking the American ambassador to task for allowing him to have the Chicago Baron to dinner before he had.
'The British have always been a presumptuous race,' said the American ambassador, lighting a large Cuban cigar.
'I'll say one thing for the Americans.' said Sir Bernard. 'They don't know when they're fairly beaten.'
Abel listened to the two diplomats' banter, wondering why he had been included in such a private gathering. Sir Ber nard offered Abel some vintage port, and the American am bassad ' or raised his glass.
'To Abel Rosnovski,'he said.
Sir Bernard also raised his glass. 'I understand that congratulations are in order,' he said.
Abel reddened and looked hastily towards Fletcher Warren, hoping he would help him out.
10h, have I let the cat out of the bag, Fletcher?' said Sir Bernard, turning to the American ambassador. 'You told me the appointment was common knowledge, old chap.'
'Fairly common,' said Fletcher Warren. 'Not that the British could ever keep a secret for very long!
'Is that why your lot took such a devil of a time to discover we were at war with Germany?' replied Sir Bernard.
'And then moved in to make sure of the victory?'
'And the glory,' said Sir Bernard.
The American ambassador laughed. 'I'm told the official announcement will be made in the next few days.'