happen again. Would you like a rundown on it now?”
“No!” he said.
“Is there something else?” I said. It was the first time he’d ever been less than pleasantly genial with me.
“Ask Ruysdale to come in here,” he said. “And come back with her.”
I went to the door and beckoned to Miss Ruysdale. She came in and we stood facing Chambrun like two bad children in the headmaster’s office.
Then Chambrun laughed, and the rock-hard contours of his face broke down into something more like their customary good-humored outlines.
“Just before you came in here, Mark, I told Ruysdale she was an incompetent bitch,” he said. “That must give you an idea of how far out in space I am at the moment. I apologize to you both. Can we start over again?”
“Will you have some brandy to go into your coffee?” Miss Ruysdale asked, unruffled.
“No thanks, Ruysdale.” Chambrun took a cigarette from his silver case and lit it. “I’ve worked in this hotel for thirty-five years,” he said. “I have been its resident manager for twenty-five. Due to the owner’s preference for the French Riviera, I have been, in effect, the sole boss of this operation. Not once, in all that time, has Mr. Battle chosen to override a decision of mine. Until tonight. I have just finished tearing up my resignation, which I intended to cable to Mr. Battle. I think I’ve passed that time in life when I’m entitled to be childish.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
His good humor began to fade again. The lines at the corners of his mouth deepened. “Mr. Battle has asked me to make accommodations available to Emlyn Teague and four friends of his who are arriving tonight. I brought Mr. Battle up to date on what had happened today. That was, he told me, the reason for it. He holds Doris Standing and Teague in—his phrase was—‘affectionate regard.’ Doris needs her friends to be around her, to comfort and help her. I told him I wouldn’t have Teague in the hotel. ‘I am conveying an order, Chambrun,’ he said. And, believe it or not, he hung up on me. He may be the richest man in the world, but he’s very frugal when it comes to telephone bills.”
To most of us on the staff at the Beaumont, Mr. George Battle was apocryphal. Chambrun was the Beaumont; Battle was a coupon clipper. Suddenly, Ruysdale and I were made aware that there was someone with more power than God.
“I could ignore the order and face the consequences,” Chambrun said, squinting at us through the smoke from his cigarette. “But it occurs to me that I’m suddenly in the center of one of Emlyn Teague’s maneuvers. Teague knows I wouldn’t have him in the hotel, so obviously he made contact with the Great Man. Teague and Company will ride into the Beaumont in triumph, laughing at me. There must be a happy way for me to overturn the conqueror’s chariot and I propose to do so.” He inhaled deeply on his cigarette. “And outside the realm of childishness, we have a murder on our hands, and I have the solid feeling that it is all part of one of Teague’s vicious elaborations. It may actually be to our advantage to have them all under one roof.” He walked over to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. “I’ve worked this out with Nevers,” he said: “Five single rooms, all on different floors.” He smiled. “I couldn’t do better for them if I wanted to. They will complain, and demand that they all be put together somewhere. That’s where you come in, Mark. You will be at the reception desk when they arrive about eleven. You will be excessively polite—and immovable. We have had to inconvenience other customers in order to accommodate them at all. If they insist on seeing me, which they will, you will tell them I’m closeted with the police in the matter of the death of their friend and I’m not available.”
“Right,” I said.
“And one other thing, Mark, in case I should forget in the morning.”
As if he ever forgot anything of
“No!” he said.
“Is there something else?” I said. It was the first time he’d ever been less than pleasantly genial with me.
“Ask Ruysdale to come in here,” he said. “And come back with her.”
I went to the door and beckoned to Miss Ruysdale. She came in and we stood facing Chambrun like two bad children in the headmaster’s office.
Then Chambrun laughed, and the rock-hard contours of his face broke down into something more like their customary good-humored outlines.
“Just before you came in here, Mark, I told Ruysdale she was an incompetent bitch,” he said. “That must give you an idea of how far out in space I am at the moment. I apologize to you both. Can we start over again?”
“Will you have some brandy to go into your coffee?” Miss Ruysdale asked, unruffled.
“No thanks, Ruysdale.” Chambrun took a cigarette from his silver case and lit it. “I’ve worked in this hotel for thirty-five years,” he said. “I have been its resident manager for twenty-five. Due to the owner’s preference for the French Riviera, I have been, in effect, the sole boss of this operation. Not once, in all that time, has Mr. Battle chosen to override a decision of mine. Until tonight. I have just finished tearing up my resignation, which I intended to cable to Mr. Battle. I think I’ve passed that time in life when I’m entitled to be childish.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
His good humor began to fade again. The lines at the corners of his mouth deepened. “Mr. Battle has asked me to make accommodations available to Emlyn Teague and four friends of his who are arriving tonight. I brought Mr. Battle up to date on what had happened today. That was, he told me, the reason for it. He holds Doris Standing and Teague in—his phrase was—‘affectionate regard.’ Doris needs her friends to be around her, to comfort and help her. I told him I wouldn’t have Teague in the hotel. ‘I am conveying an order, Chambrun,’ he said. And, believe it or not, he hung up on me. He may be the richest man in the world, but he’s very frugal when it comes to telephone bills.”
To most of us on the staff at the Beaumont, Mr. George Battle was apocryphal. Chambrun was the Beaumont; Battle was a coupon clipper. Suddenly, Ruysdale and I were made aware that there was someone with more power than God.
“I could ignore the order and face the consequences,” Chambrun said, squinting at us through the smoke from his cigarette. “But it occurs to me that I’m suddenly in the center of one of Emlyn Teague’s maneuvers. Teague knows I wouldn’t have him in the hotel, so obviously he made contact with the Great Man. Teague and Company will ride into the Beaumont in triumph, laughing at me. There must be a happy way for me to overturn the conqueror’s chariot and I propose to do so.” He inhaled deeply on his cigarette. “And outside the realm of childishness, we have a murder on our hands, and I have the solid feeling that it is all part of one of Teague’s vicious elaborations. It may actually be to our advantage to have them all under one roof.” He walked over to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. “I’ve worked this out with Nevers,” he said: “Five single rooms, all on different floors.” He smiled. “I couldn’t do better for them if I wanted to. They will complain, and demand that they all be put together somewhere. That’s where you come in, Mark. You will be at the reception desk when they arrive about eleven. You will be excessively polite—and immovable. We have had to inconvenience other customers in order to accommodate them at all. If they insist on seeing me, which they will, you will tell them I’m closeted with the police in the matter of the death of their friend and I’m not available.”
“Right,” I said.
“And one other thing, Mark, in case I should forget in the morning.”
As if he ever forgot anything of
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