Hotel / Отель. Артур Хейли

embarrassed at his own forcefulness. “Never mind. Most of the time I keep such thoughts to myself.”

      “You shouldn't, and if you do you should be ashamed.” Behind Christine's words was the knowledge that the St. Gregory was inefficient in many ways. Currently, too, the hotel was facing a financial crisis. “There's heads and brick walls,” Peter objected. “Beating one against the other doesn't help. W.T. isn't keen on new ideas.”

      “That's no reason for giving up.”

      He laughed. “You sound like a woman.”

      “I am a woman.”

      “I know,” Peter said. “I've just begun to notice.”

      It was true, he thought. For most of the time he had known Christine – since his own arrival at the St. Gregory – he had taken her for granted[32]. Recently, though, he had found himself increasingly aware of just how attractive she was. He wondered what she was doing for the rest of the evening.

      He said tentatively, “I didn't have dinner tonight; too much going on. If you feel like it, how about joining me for a late supper?”

      Christine said, “I love late suppers.”

      At the elevator he told her, “There's one more thing I want to check.” He took her arm, squeezing it lightly. “Will you wait on the main mezzanine?”

      His hands were surprisingly gentle for someone of his size. Christine glanced at his strong, energetic profile with its jutting jaw. It was an interesting face, she thought. She was aware of her senses quickening.[33]

      “All right,” she agreed. “I'll wait.”

6

      Peter waited alone for the elevator on the fifth floor. It had been a full evening, Peter thought – with some unpleasantness – though not exceptional for a big hotel.

      When the elevator arrived he told the operator, “Lobby, please,” reminding himself that Christine was waiting on the main mezzanine, but his business on the main floor would take only a few minutes.

      He noted with impatience that although the elevator doors were closed, they had not yet started down. The operator was moving the control handle back and forth. Peter asked, “Are you sure the gates are fully closed?”

      “Yes, sir, they are. It isn't that; it's the connections I think, either here or up top.” The man turned his head in the direction of the roof where the elevator machinery was housed, then added, “Had quite a bit of trouble lately. The chief was probing around the other day.” He worked the handle vigorously. With a jerk the elevator started down.

      “Which elevator is this?”

      “Number four.”

      Peter made a mental note[34] to ask the chief engineer exactly what was wrong.

      It was almost half-past twelve by the lobby clock as he stepped from the elevator. As was usual by this time, some of the activity in the lobby had quieted down, but there was still a number of people, and the sounds of music from the nearby Indigo Room showed that supper dancing was in progress. Peter turned right toward Reception but had gone only a few paces when he saw an obese, waddling figure approaching him. It was Ogilvie, the chief house officer, who had been missing earlier. As always, he was accompanied by an odor of stale cigar smoke.

      “I hear you were looking for me,” Ogilvie said.

      Peter felt some of his earlier anger return. “I certainly was. Where the devil were you?”

      “Doing my job, Mr. McDermott.” Ogilvie had a surprisingly falsetto voice. “If you want to know, I was over at police headquarters reporting some trouble we had here. There was a suitcase stolen from the baggage room today.”

      “Well, you just missed an emergency,” Peter said. “But it is taken care of now.” Deciding to put Ogilvie out of his mind, with a nod he moved on to Reception.

      The night clerk whom he had telephoned earlier was at the desk. Peter tried a friendly approach. He said pleasantly, “Thank you for helping me out with that problem on the fourteenth.

      We have Mr. Wells settled comfortably in 1410. Dr. Aarons is arranging nursing care, and the chief has fixed up oxygen.”

      The room clerk's face had frozen as Peter approached him. Now it relaxed. “I hadn't realized there was anything that serious.”

      “It was touch and go for a while[35], I think. That's why I was so concerned about why he was moved into that other room.”

      The room clerk nodded. “In that case I'll certainly make inquiries. Yes, you can be sure of that.”

      Peter recrossed the lobby and entered an elevator. This time he rode up one floor only, to the main mezzanine.

      Christine was waiting in his office. She had kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her in the leather chair she had occupied an hour and a half before. Her eyes were closed, her thoughts far away in time and distance. She looked up as Peter came in.

      “Don't marry a man,” he told her. “There's never an end to it.”[36]

      “It's a timely warning,” Christine said. “I hadn't told you, but I've a crush on that new sous-chef[37]. The one who looks like Rock Hudson.” She uncurled her legs, reaching for her shoes. “Do we have more troubles?”

      He grinned, finding the sight and sound of Christine immensely cheering. “Other people's, mostly. I'll tell you as we go.”

      “Where to?”

      “Anywhere away from the hotel. We've both had enough for one day.”

      Christine considered. “We could go to the Quarter. There are plenty of places open. Or if you want to come to my place, I'm a whiz at omelets[38].”

      Peter helped her up and followed her to the door where he switched off the office lights. “An omelet,” he declared, “is what I really wanted and didn't know it.”

7

      They walked together to a parking lot not far from the hotel. A sleepy parking attendant brought down Christine's Volkswagen and they climbed in. “This is the life! You don't mind if I spread out?” He draped his arm along the back of the driver's seat, not quite touching Christine's shoulders.

      Christine was driving in silence, heading the little car northeast, as Peter talked about the inefficiencies within the hotel which he lacked authority to change. In the St. Gregory, a good deal of organization was unwritten, with final judgments depending upon Warren Trent.

      In ordinary circumstances, Peter – an honors graduate[39] of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration – would have started looking for more satisfying work elsewhere. But circumstances were not ordinary.

      At the Waldorf, where he had gone to work after graduation from Cornell, Peter McDermott had been the bright young man who appeared to hold the future in his hand. As a junior assistant manager, he had been selected for promotion when bad luck, plus indiscretion, intervened. At a time when he was supposedly on duty and required elsewhere in the hotel, he was discovered in a bedroom with a woman guest.

      Two factors were against Peter. The woman's husband was aided by private detectives, and a divorce case resulted, with publicity, which all hotels feared.

      As if this was not enough, there was a personal problem. Three years before the Waldorf event, Peter McDermott had married impulsively and the marriage, soon after, ended in separation. To an extent, his loneliness and disillusion had been a cause of the incident in the hotel. However, Peter's wife sued successfully for divorce. The end result was his dismissal and blacklisting by the major chain hotels.[40]

      Only

32

он её просто не замечал

33

Она почувствовала желание.

34

взял на заметку

35

Он был на волосок от смерти

36

Его делам конца-края не будет.

37

я запала на нового повара

38

я мастер омлетов

39

закончивший университет с отличием

40

В результате его уволили и внесли в чёрный список крупных сетевых отелей.