17

Curtis O’Keefe followed close behind the stretcher bearing Dodo, almost running to keep up.

Swinging doors marked ACCIDENT ROOM opened to meet the stretcher. Inside were nurses, doctors, activity, other stretchers. A male attendant barred Curtis O’Keefe’s way. “Wait here, please.”

Curtis O’Keefe tried to protest but remained facing the doors. His eyes were misted, his heart despairing.

It had all happened less than half an hour ago. After Dodo’s leavetaking, instinct told him that something had gone from his life that he might never find again. Rationality won out. He remained where he was.

A few minutes later he heard the sirens. The activity below made him decide to go down. On the twelfth-floor landing, after almost five minutes, when an elevator failed to come, O’Keefe decided to use the emergency stairs. As he went down, he discovered others had had the same idea.

In the lobby he learned from excited spectators the essential facts of what had occurred. It was then he prayed with intensity that Dodo had left the hotel before the accident. A moment later he saw her carried, unconscious, from the elevator shaft. The look of death was on her face.

In that instant, Curtis O’Keefe discovered the truth he had shielded from himself so long. He loved her. He knew too late that letting Dodo go had been the greatest single error of his life.

When the nurse approached him, she shook her head and hurried on.

He had a sense of helplessness. There was so little he could do, but he would do it.

He opened doors marked PRIVATE and stopped before the Director’s desk. When Curtis O’Keefe identified himself, the Director’s anger lessened.

Fifteen minutes later O’Keefe was introduced to Dr. Beauclaire.

“I understand that you are a friend of the young lady. We are doing everything we can. But I must tell you there is a strong possibility she may not live.”

“Doctor, if there’s anything you need – a question of money, professional help…”

The Director interrupted quietly. “This is a free hospital, Mr. O’Keefe. It’s for emergencies. All the same, there are services here that money couldn’t buy. I should tell you that Dr. Beauclaire is one of the leading neurosurgeons in the country.”

O’Keefe said humbly, “I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps there is one thing,” the doctor said, “The patient is unconscious now, and under sedation. Earlier, she asked for her mother. If it’s possible to get her mother here…”

“It’s possible.” It was a relief that at least there was something he could do.

From a corridor pay phone, Curtis O’Keefe called to Akron, Ohio, and instructed, “You are to contact a Mrs. Irene Lash of Exchange Street, Akron. I do not have the number of a house.” O’Keefe remembered the street from the day that he and Dodo had telegraphed the basket of fruit.

O’Keefe continued, “See her personally and say that her daughter might soon die. I want Mrs. Lash flown to New Orleans by the fastest possible means. Disregard expense.”

As soon as the arrangements were known, O’Keefe instructed, he was to be contacted at Charity Hospital.

Ninety minutes later, an operating room was being readied for Dodo. Before she was wheeled into the operating room, Curtis O’Keefe had been permitted to see her briefly. She was pale and unconscious.

Dodo’s mother was on her way.

For the moment there was nothing to do but wait.

Suddenly, he had a desire to pray. He clasped his hands and lowered his head.

Strangely, for the first time in many years, he could find no words for what was in his heart.

18

Dusk was settling over the city. Soon, Peter McDermott thought, the night would come, with sleep and, for a while, forgetfulness. Tomorrow, the immediacy of today’s events would begin receding. But it would be many dusks before those, who were closest to today’s events, would be free from a sense of tragedy and terror.

The grim, sad process of identifying the dead and notifying families had been completed. Where the hotel was to aid with funerals, arrangements had began.

Elevator service had been partially restored.

Insurance investigators were collecting statements.

But despite today’s tragedy, it was necessary to think ahead.

On Monday, a team of consultants would fly from New York to begin planning for replacement of all passenger elevator machinery with new.

The resignation of the chief engineer was on Peter’s desk. He intended to accept it. The chief, Doc Vickery, must be honorably retired, with the pension befitting his long years of service to the hotel.

M. Hebrand, the chef de cuisine, would also retire and Andre Lemieux would be promoted to his place. Much of the St. Gregory’s future would depend on young Andre Lemieux and his projects.

There must be other appointments and a reorganization of departments.

There was his own future with Christine. The thought of it was inspiring and exciting.

Other unfinished business still remained. An hour ago, Captain Yolles of the New Orleans Police had dropped into Peter’s office. He had come from an interview with the Duchess of Croydon. “When you’re with her,” Yolles said, “you sit there wondering what’s under all that solid ice. Does she feel about the way her husband died?” Later, answering Peter’s question, Yolles said, “Yes, we’ll charge her as an accessory, and she’ll be arrested after the funeral.” Ogilvie had already been charged.

When Captain Yolles had gone, the office was quiet. After a while, Peter heard the outer door open and close, then there was a light tap. He called, “Come in!”

It was Aloysius Royce. The young Negro carried a tray with a martini pitcher and a single glass, “I thought maybe you could do with this.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. “But I never drink alone.”

“I had an idea you’d say that.” From his pocket, Royce produced a second glass.

They drank in silence.

Peter asked, “Did you deliver Mrs. Lash?”

Royce nodded. “Drove her right to the hospital. I took her to Mr. O’Keefe.”

“Thank you.” After Curtis O’Keefe’s call, Peter had wanted someone at the airport on whom he could rely. It was the reason he had asked Royce to go.

“They’d finished operating when we got to the hospital. The young lady – Miss Lash – will be all right. Mr. O’Keefe told me they’re going to be married. Her mother seemed to like the idea.”

Peter smiled fleetingly. “I suppose most mothers would.”

There was a silence, then Royce said, “I heard about the meeting this morning. The way things turned out.”

Peter nodded. “The hotel is desegregated. You might stay with W.T., and you’d be entirely free. There’s legal work for the hotel as well.”

“I’ll thank you for that,” Royce said. “But the answer’s no. I told Mr. Trent this afternoon – I’m leaving, right after graduation.” He refilled the martini glasses. “We’re in a war, you and me – on opposite sides. What I can do, with what I’ve learned about the law, I intend to do for my people. You’ll have your share here. You’ve desegregated, but that isn’t the end. There’ll be problems – with our people who won’t behave nicely, who’ll embarrass you because some are the way they are.”

“It may not be easy,” Peter said. “I’ll try to be objective.”

“You will. Others won’t. All the same, it’s the way the war will go. There’s just one good thing. Once in a while there’ll be truces.” Royce picked up the tray with the pitcher and the empty glasses. “I guess this was one.”

The cycle of another innkeeping day was about to end.

This had differed from most, but routines had continued. Reservations, reception, administration, housekeeping, engineering, garage, kitchens… all had combined in a single, simple function. To welcome the traveler, sustain him, provide him with rest, and speed him on.

Soon, the cycle would begin again.

Wearily, Peter McDermott prepared to leave. Near the stairway to the lobby he saw himself in a mirror. For the first time, he realized that the suit he was wearing was rumpled and soiled. It became that way, he reflected, under the elevator debris where Billyboi died.

As he smoothed the jacket with his hand, he remembered about a folded paper in his pocket. Christine had given it to him as he left the meeting this morning, where he had staked his career on a principle, and won.

He opened it curiously. It read: It will be a fine hotel because it will be like the man who is to run it. At the bottom – in smaller lettering, Christine had written: P.S. I love you.

Smiling, he went downstairs to the lobby of his hotel.

Англо-русский словарь

A

abhor – питать отвращение

abrupt – резкий, отрывистый

accede – соглашаться на, принимать

acid – кислота

acidly – колко, едко

acquaintance – знакомый; знакомство

adhesive – клейкий (зд. adhesive patch – лейкопластырь)

adjoining – соседний, примыкающий

adjust – поправлять

affiliate – филиал

affirmatively – утвердительно

air-conditioning – кондиционирование воздуха

antagonism – вражда, неприязнь

antagonist – соперник; враг

apart – 1) помимо 2) fall apart – развалиться

apartment – квартира

apparently – очевидно

arouse – будоражить

ascend – подниматься

ash-blond – светло-пепельный

ashen – пепельный

assert – утверждать

assortment – набор

attest – свидетельствовать

audacious – наглый, бесстрашный

awkwardly – неуклюже

azalea – азалия