He held up his hand. “All right, all right.”
Two weeks before the opening, everything seemed to be happening at once. The wallpaper had arrived and carpets were being installed; halls were being painted and pictures were being hung. Lara inspected every suite, accompanied by a staff of five.
She walked into one suite and said, “The drapes are wrong. Switch them with the suite next door.”
In another suite, she tried the piano. “It’s out of tune. Take care of it.”
In a third suite the electric fireplace didn’t work. “Fix it.”
It seemed to the harried staff that Lara was trying to do everything herself. She was in the kitchen and in the laundry room and in the utility closets. She was everywhere, demanding, complaining, fixing.
The man whom she had hired to manage the hotel said, “Don’t get so excited, Miss Cameron. At the opening of any hotel, little things always go wrong.”
“Not in my hotels,” Lara said. “Not in my hotels.”
The day of the opening, Lara was up at 4:00 A.M., too nervous to sleep. She wanted desperately to talk to Paul Martin, but there was no way she could call him at that hour. She dressed and went for a walk.
Everything is going to be fine, she told herself. The reservation computer is going to be fixed. They’ll get the third oven working. The lock on Suite Seven will be repaired. We’ll find a replacement for the maids who quit yesterday. The air-conditioning unit in the penthouse will work…
At six o’clock that evening the invited guests began to arrive. A uniformed guard at each entrance to the hotel examined their invitations before admitting them. There was a mix of celebrities, famous athletes, and corporation executives. Lara had gone over the list carefully, eliminating the names of the freeloaders and the hangers-on.
She stood in the spacious lobby greeting the newcomers as they arrived. “I’m Lara Cameron. So nice of you to come…Please feel free to look around.”
Lara took Keller aside. “Why isn’t the mayor coming?”
“He’s pretty busy, you know, and…”
“You mean he thinks I’m not important enough.”
“One day he’ll change his mind.”
One of the mayor’s assistants arrived.
“Thank you for coming,” Lara said. “This is an honor for the hotel.”
Lara kept looking nervously for Todd Grayson, the architectural critic for The New York Times, who had been invited. If he likes it, Lara thought, we have a winner.
Paul Martin arrived with his wife. It was the first time Lara had seen Mrs. Martin. She was an attractive, elegant-looking woman. Lara felt an unexpected pang of guilt.
Paul walked up to Lara. “Miss Cameron, I’m Paul Martin. This is my wife, Nina. Thank you for inviting us.”
Lara gripped his hand a second longer than necessary. “I’m delighted that you’re here. Please make yourself at home.”
Paul looked around the lobby. He had seen it half a dozen times before. “It’s beautiful,” he exclaimed. “I think you’re going to be very successful.”
Nina Martin was staring at Lara. “I’m sure she will be.”
And Lara wondered if she knew.
The guests began to stream in.
An hour later Lara was standing in the lobby when Keller rushed up to her. “For God’s sakes,” he said, “everyone’s looking for you. They’re all in the ballroom, eating. Why aren’t you in there?”
“Todd Grayson hasn’t arrived. I’m waiting for him.”
“The Times’ architectural critic? I saw him an hour ago.”
“What?”
“Yes. He went on a tour of the hotel with the others.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew.”
“What did he say?” Lara asked eagerly. “How did he look? Did he seem impressed?”
“He didn’t say anything. He looked fine. And I don’t know whether he was impressed or not.”
“Didn’t he say anything?”
“No.”
Lara frowned. “He would have said something if he had liked it. It’s a bad sign, Howard.”
The party was a huge success. The guests ate and drank and toasted the hotel. When the evening was over, Lara was showered with compliments.
“It’s such a lovely hotel, Miss Cameron…”
“I’ll certainly stay here when I come back to New York…”