Page 13 of Lady Scandal
“Wait—” she pleaded, holding up one hand. “His father was a petty thief? But then, why on earth would the board agree to put him in charge of the Savoy? Did they not know about it?”
“They knew. Most of the board members were already acquainted with him. He and Richard Carte are partners in several other ventures, you see. And unlike his father, his own reputation in business is one of scrupulous honesty. As for the investors, Calderon told us about his father at the meeting. He felt it wasn’t playing the game otherwise. Some of the investors weren’t too keen on him after finding out, of course, but as I said during the meeting, one can hardly blame a son for his father’s sins. Although,” he added, watching her face, “I’m not sure you agree?”
Delia drew herself up, affronted. “I would never hold the circumstances of his birth or the actions of his father against any man. And whatever my opinion of Calderon himself may be, the accusation he leveled at my head was most unwarranted. I am not a snob, and you know it.”
“True, but I’m not the one who needs to be convinced.”
“I doubt I could convince Calderon that water’s wet,” she muttered. “Honestly, I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone so strong-willed, so determined to get their own way—”
“Just so,” he murmured, cutting her off. “The pot has met the kettle, and she doesn’t like it a bit.”
“No one ever has trouble with me,” she said with dignity. “I don’t bully people into doing things I want.”
“No, you just manage to convince them that what you want is all their own idea.”
That stung, mainly because there was truth in it. But before she could reply, Max spoke again. “But here’s the thing, Dee.” He paused and leaned forward in his chair, looking uncharacteristically grave allof a sudden. “Nothing you’ve told me is relevant here. The investors—including me, by the way—will not continue to accept receiving no return on our investment. We require the board to do whatever is necessary to right the ship before it sinks.”
“It’s not sinking. Don’t exaggerate.”
“Even you must admit that the hotel has been spending an inordinate amount of money. Ritz is the worst offender, but you aren’t much better. Don’t deny it, Delia,” he added as she opened her mouth. “I’m terribly fond of you, as you know, but you are a spendthrift.”
Delia began to regret she’d paid this call. “All the decisions I make are sound, and none have been made without Ritz’s full agreement. The hotel has an image to maintain. That costs money.”
“Image is all very well, but things can’t go on as they have. When Mrs. Carte brought Calderon in, it seemed to us like the answer to a prayer. This sort of thing is right up his street. He’s taken over and turned around several other hotels. Very successfully, I might add.”
Delia sniffed, no more impressed by that fact now than she’d been this morning. “I’ve made some inquiries about that. None of those hotels are in London, and none are up to Savoy standards.”
“That’s not a snobbish view at all,” he murmured slyly.
“How does Ritz feel about what’s happening?” she asked, wisely shifting the conversation. “Does anyone know?”
“Does it matter? He, Echenard, and Escoffier will be made to understand—if they haven’t already—that there’s nothing else to be done. Besides, Ritz has been stretched terribly thin, building this new Paris hotel of his and managing the new Savoy hotel in Rome, as well as running things here. You’re his friend. Think of him. He’s overwhelmed and could do with Calderon’s help.”
“Helping Ritz is supposed to be my job.”
“Yes, I know. And I know how much the job means to you.”
He didn’t know, not really. No one could truly understand what alifeline Ritz’s offer of employment had been to her in the wake of her third husband’s death. “Well, then,” she began.
“But you, my dear, are not enough, and the lack of profit proves it.”
“Not that horrid word again! Really, Max, you’re already one of the wealthiest men in England. How much more money do you need to make?”
“Given the disastrous slump in income from land rents and what it costs to run the estates, I need all the income from other sources I can get. And most of the other investors—the titled ones, anyway—feel the same. Some of our lot are barely staying afloat. You know that.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” she conceded, appropriately chastened. “But the man’s simply unbearable. What can I do?”
“Seems simple to me. Figure out a way to get along with him. Or,” he added as she groaned, “quit.”
“You sound like Calderon. He made that suggestion, too. Plain as a pikestaff he’d love it if I did. But I won’t. I adore what I do. And I can’t let Ritz down. And it’s not as if I could go to work for another hotel anyway. None of them would hire a woman to be part of management.”
“Would that be so bad?”
She stared at her cousin, confounded by the question. “But if I didn’t work, what would I do with myself?”
“Charities?”
“I already run seven! I can’t bear to take on any more. And what else is there? Spend my time drifting aimlessly from London in the season to country house parties in the autumn, to the Riviera or Egypt in the winter?”
