Decorum (36 page)

“Oh, hell.”

“Oh my, have I committed a little faux pas? Now then. Why don’t you come over here and sit down and we’ll have a nice little chat.”

The manager asserted himself.

“Mr. O’Casey, I cannot allow this type of incident to disrupt the management of this hotel or disturb the comfort of our guests. If this can’t be resolved reasonably, I’m afraid I must ask you . . .”

Connor stayed on his feet.

“Would you leave us, please, Mr. Mathews?” he said, regaining a measure of composure. “We’ll soon get this sorted.”

It was really all Blanche wanted in the first place.

“Now what’s this all about?” demanded Connor when the manager and the clerk had withdrawn.

“I’m surprised you have the audacity to ask,” said Blanche. Her tone had lost its gaiety, but retained a grating satisfaction. “Ever since you left me at midnight, standing on the pavement in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, alone and friendless, I’ve been trying to think how you could assist me in getting back on my feet again.”

“I left you with plenty of cash, Blanche. You were supposed to go off to Italy to your sister’s.”

“Fate intervened, it seems.”

“I can’t help that,” said Connor. “If you had minded your own business instead of going off with the wrong crowd and getting yourself tangled up—”

“Yes, and what was I supposed to do, sit in the hotel all day and wait for you to throw me a few crumbs? You never lifted a finger to help me, to win me the approval of your friends. You didn’t even try.”

“Why go raking all this up? What in God’s name did you do with all that money? No, no, don’t tell me. Obviously it’s gone. I don’t want to know where. But what did you think you’d gain by following me here? If you think I’d marry you—”

“Marry?” Blanche started to laugh. “
Me?
Marry
you?
That’s very funny. I admit that at one time I wanted exactly that. No, you can rest easy on that score, I don’t want to marry you. The Lund creature is welcome to you, if you think she’ll have you. What I want from you now is quite different from what I wanted then.”

“Meaning what?” Connor said.

“I want the help you wouldn’t give me in New York. You can introduce me around to the friends you’re cultivating here. You introduce me and I’ll do the rest. In return I promise I’ll stay out of your hair. I mean to come out well, O’Casey. The fact is I can’t do it alone.”

“And if I refuse?”

“More than two thousand dollars buys me enough time and credibility to be of use to those New York reporter johnnies I’ve become friendly with. Chambers and the
New York World
are paying handsomely for exclusive stories for the society pages about the wonders of the Banff Springs Hotel and its exclusive clientele and the scandal it’s supporting under its very roof.”

“You’re bluffing, Blanche.”

“Oh am I? After the stunts Pulitzer paid Nellie Bly to perform for them? If she can telegraph them from Hong Kong, what’s to stop me telegraphing from Banff? Five days across country and two more for the mail to reach New York for an interview or a colorful feature—what’s that to Chambers or to me when I can be feeding them a story every week? It’s a simple proposition—I send them stories, they send me money. Even if I had to set up camp by the Bow River I fancy I could gin up enough to keep them interested and my name in the papers. All that peace and quiet you were seeking away from the omniscient New York society will be for naught. Don’t you see? The sooner you help me, the sooner I’ll be off your hands—and so much the better for both of us.”

She sighed deeply and relaxed.

“Now, I think we should ask Mr. Mathews to come back in. What about that champagne?”

C
HAPTER
45

“So, that was the lady,” said Esther. “What has happened, Francesca?” Esther sat on the settee in front of the fire, her face impassive but for an almost imperceptible animation in her eyes. “I can’t imagine that he could be completely ignorant of her intentions.” “I don’t know. This must be some contrivance on her part, Aunt Esther.”

By the time the ladies had retired to Francesca’s suite she was in no mood to deal with Connor and Blanche. It was as if she and Connor and Blanche were wind-up toys that had developed an annoying habit of walking in circles and bumping into each other.

A knock came at the door. Francesca opened it to the outstretched hand of Jamie, proffering a note and saying, “For you, if you please, ma’am.” She received it with thanks and closed the door, opening the small envelope and drawing out the sheet of thick paper emblazoned with the hotel’s crest. She walked to the window and read.

“He’s prompt, I’ll give him that,” said Esther. “Let’s hope he’s truthful as well.”

“He wants me to meet him in the little parlor in ten minutes,” Francesca reported and looked at the clock on the mantelshelf.

“Certainly not alone,” said Esther.

“I think we should go with you. Bother propriety. Her presence affects all of us,” said Vinnie. “Besides, Aunt Esther and I can’t sit here and leave all the unpleasantness to you.”

“The parlor is public territory,” said Francesca. “Does anyone honestly think we’d go there to misbehave ourselves when there are plenty of private rooms?”

“Well, I think we should all go anyway,” said Vinnie, making for the door. “Are you coming with me? Or will I be the one facing Mr. O’Casey alone?”

A bellman directed them to one of several small parlors for the private use of hotel guests. Connor was waiting. Francesca opened her mouth to speak, but he paid no heed.

“I’ll thank you not to start,” he said, leaving her agape and frowning.

“I don’t like your tone, Mr. O’Casey,” Esther retorted.

“Let’s not begin like this,” said Francesca, determined not to let tempers run unchecked while fearing hers might be the first to go. “Let’s give Connor the courtesy of a hearing first.”

Esther and Vinnie retired to a settee, but Francesca remained on her feet.

“Thank you, Frankie.” He drew a deep breath and began. “I know you saw Blanche. I just saw her myself a few minutes ago.”

“Quite a fast worker, isn’t she?” Esther said to no one in particular.

“Goodness, already?” blurted Vinnie.

“She sought you out?” asked Francesca.

“She caused a ruckus about money and the management called me in to get it sorted,” said Connor.

“What does she want exactly?” asked Esther. “We understood that she intended to go to Italy.”

“So did I,” Connor replied. “Unfortunately she’s managed to get herself attached to the
New York World
as a reporter. She’s here covering society in Banff for the newspaper.”

Variations on,
Oh, for heaven’s sake,
were spoken by all three ladies at once while Esther threw Francesca a look with a glint of
I told you so.

“I can understand why she didn’t go to Italy,” said Francesca. “If I were in her place I wouldn’t want to admit defeat in front of family.”

“You’re not serious,” said Connor.

“But with the kind of life she’s led . . .” began Esther.

“Yes, exactly because of the kind of life she’s led,” Francesca continued, a little uncomfortable that Blanche’s ally in infamy was standing in the same room, but having begun she went on. “With her last prospect for a respectable marriage gone, whom can she face or to whom can she turn for help? She probably thinks you owe it to her.”

“I don’t owe her a thing.”

“Oh, really?” said Francesca, the heat rising. “I’m not sure I agree. She certainly put up with
you
for a goodish while and I suppose one is justified in arguing to whose advantage. A woman always pays more heavily than a man.”

“I’ve paid her plenty.”

“That makes it right? A simple cash transaction? I’ll bear it in mind in the future.”

“Frankie, that’s not fair and you know it,” exclaimed Connor angrily.

“Kindly refrain from telling me what I do and do not know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with a gesture of frustration. “I’m sorry. I just can’t see how she managed to get you on her side.”

“I’m not on anybody’s side,” said Francesca, trying to regain her control. “Just because I don’t care for the woman doesn’t mean I wish her ill. I’m simply saying that I can understand why she might feel this way and why she might come to you, that’s all. It’s a shame that she should choose you, but she has.”

“Charity aside,” said Esther, turning to Connor, “if you feel no obligations to her why didn’t you simply send her packing?”

“You think I didn’t try? You think I stood there and let her run roughshod over me?”

All three ladies looked at him.

“All right, all right.” He sighed and collected himself. “She threatened me.”

“
She
threatened
you?
” asked Vinnie. “How on earth—”

“With publicity. She wants introductions, help in navigating through society at Banff so’s she can get her stories to send back to the
World
. If I—or we, most likely—if we fail to help her, or even try to freeze her out, she’ll spill the whole story about our connections in New York. There’ll be a storm of publicity that’ll completely undo our stay here.”

“Unfortunately, she’s very good at publicity, if you’ll recall,” said Vinnie. “She certainly isn’t afraid to get her name in the papers—and now that it’s in her professional interest—”

“That’s monstrous,” retorted Esther.

“Oh, Esther,” said Francesca, “publicity is at once the fair-haired child and the dark demon of all society. Half the society matrons of New York know too well how to set the publicity pump going, a skill for which I have no facility.”

“You’ve had your share of publicity,” said Vinnie.

“Not of my own making. None of my family ever sought it. I don’t know whom Jerry had to pay off to see that the press treated me sympathetically over Mother and Father and Oskar, and to treat me well through—through all the recent business.”

“That’s not so hard when you’re the victim,” Vinnie said, then caught herself. “I’m sorry, Francesca, I didn’t mean . . .”

“I know, dear, don’t worry. Vinnie’s perfectly right. ‘Victim’ is certainly one way to portray someone—or oneself—when seeking favorable publicity. Mrs. Alvarado is only doing what hundreds of others do. She intends to bring everything we’re trying to escape from in New York to Banff if Connor doesn’t cooperate.”

“Yes,” admitted Connor.

“But I don’t understand. She’d only be hurting herself,” said Vinnie. “Why draw attention to her own past by making trouble for Mr. O’Casey and for us?”

“She’s not a complete fool,” said Connor. “She is trying to distance herself from recent events. She’s taken on her maiden name and has styled herself Mrs. Blanche Wilson. I’ve no doubt that she’ll not scruple about doing what’ll suit her purposes.”

“She has nothing to lose,” said Francesca. “She couldn’t make things worse for herself than they are already.”

“You’ve done too much settlement work,” said Vinnie. “You’re always taking other people’s sides and seeing their points of view. You’re too good by half—and it’s very trying of you.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss Lawrence,” said Connor with a smirk.

“All right,” Esther interrupted, “enough of this. What are we to do about it?”

“I think we should help her,” said Francesca, and waited for the outbreak.

“You can’t possibly mean—” began Vinnie, suppressing her relish.

“I knew that’s where this was going,” retorted Connor.

“Wait just a moment and let me explain,” Francesca said, her voice firm. “I’m not suggesting that we become her bosom friends. On the other hand we can’t hope to avoid her, at least not without consequence. The Springs is like its own small town. Everybody will know everybody’s business. Though she may have achieved a certain notoriety, which may be acceptable to the
World,
she still can’t afford to become persona non grata. This may be enough to keep a certain pressure upon her.”

“I can’t understand why you should want to give legitimacy to this woman’s claims by giving in to her demands in such a way,” said Esther. “I don’t think we should be encouraging her in the least.”

“It’s not a matter of giving her legitimacy or encouragement. I simply don’t see how we can avoid her in so small a place as Banff. We may as well exert what control we can.”

“We could try to call her bluff and freeze her out,” said Vinnie. “She may give up and leave.”

“I don’t think it would turn a hair. She has something to prove, now that she’s with the
World
. I think that’s exactly what she’s prepared to meet.”

“I’m afraid I agree,” said Connor. “So, Frankie, you think we should brazen it out?”

Francesca’s speech was measured. “I suggest that we be civil, stay out of her way for the most part, lend a hand with the odd introduction. Perhaps we ladies can divert people’s attention from associating her too closely with you,” she said to him. “If she makes a nuisance of herself or engages in unacceptable behavior, the hotel will intervene and save us the trouble. As I said, I don’t wish her ill. I’m afraid with that we must all be content.”

 

“Let’s go outside,” said Blanche, notebook in hand, “so we can both smoke.”

Her reluctant quarry did his best not to show his displeasure at being collared for an interview. Connor usually welcomed the opportunity to talk about the Excelsior—the alleged topic of the afternoon. Not wishing to sabotage her chances at gaining interviews with others, he realized that a good public performance might aid in getting her off his hands.

“Sunshine or shade?” she asked.

“You have no parasol,” he said gallantly.

“I can sit with my back to the sun,” she replied. “It will feel good on such a cool day. Would you like drinks to be brought out?”

He motioned her to precede him out the door and onto the terrace. The great bowl of the Bow Valley swept out before them, where the Bow and the Spray sliced through the thick, spiky green spruce that lined the bowl’s bottom. The trees marched in legions up the sides of the mountains until stymied by the unrelenting, snowcapped sandstone and limestone peaks that sashayed around the bowl’s rim through an eternity of vista.

“No,” he said. “Thanks anyway. I’m happy to attend to the business at hand.” He thought better of it. “Would it look better for you—more congenial like?” he asked, his voice lowered. “We could have tea brought out—or a drink if you prefer.”

She looked at him in some surprise.

“As a matter of fact, it would look better. Thank you. A drink would be lovely.”

No sooner had they found seats where neither the hotel nor the mountain nor the terrace’s roof impeded the sunshine, when a waiter appeared and took their orders.

“So,” said Connor, offering his opened cigarette case to Blanche, “since you can write your article just as well without me, what did you really want to talk to me about?”

“I do need a favor, yes,” she said as she held the cigarette between her fingers and with her other hand searched in her bag and produced a little silver pencil set.

“Naturally,” said Connor as he drew out a small box of matches and struck one from which he lit her cigarette and his.

“Mr. O’Casey,” she said with overdone emphasis and in a voice raised just enough to make the conversation less than private, “my readers back in New York will be positively agog to learn of the progress of the Excelsior.”

“Thank you, Mrs. . . .” Connor hesitated, feigning a smile at her under the furtive glances of other guests who milled about the terrace.

“My maiden name, thanks,” said Blanche, smiling at him, her lips barely moving.

“And it is Mrs.?” he asked as he drew on his cigarette.

“Of course.” She pretended to make a note. “As to the hotel’s progress, would you care to comment?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Wilson,” Connor said aloud. “The investors in the Excelsior Hotel Company of New York are engaged in several activities aimed at bringing luxury apartment hotel accommodation to New York City. At present, we are in the midst of acquiring suitable premises in what we believe will become the very heart of social and cultural life.”

The drinks arrived. Connor gave his room number. Blanche’s pencil scratched across the page.

“So, the Excelsior is to cater to an exclusive clientele,” she said. “Not unlike here at the Banff Springs? And what brings you personally here to the Springs,” she asked through clenched teeth, “that’s fit for the New York press?”

“I’m sure the press won’t miss much with you about,” Connor said under his breath. “The investors have a little scheme on, as a matter of fact,” he said, recovering himself. “Each of us is visiting some of the best hotels we can find, all across the continent.”

“Ah, a spy mission,” said Blanche.

“Yes, if you like. We’re looking for inspiration, you might say. We aim to make the Excelsior a distinctively American hotel, but we’re going to the ends of the earth, quite literally, to find out what the people want, what appeals to the tastes of the elite clientele we aim to serve, as well as what’s new, what’s modern, what will make their stay a pleasant one—and of course, will make them want to come back when they’re in New York City.”