Peter McDermott came next, accompanying Warren Trent who had arrived from the fifteenth floor a moment earlier. Paradoxically, despite having lost his long struggle to maintain control of the hotel, the St. Gregory's proprietor appeared more amiable and relaxed than at any time in recent weeks.
He wore a carnation in his buttonhole and greeted the visitors cordially, including Mr. Dempster whom Peter introduced.
For Peter, the proceedings had a chimeric quality. His actions were mechanical, his speech a conditioned reflex, like responding to a litany.
It was as if a robot inside him had taken charge until such time as he could recover from the shock administered by the man from Montreal.
Executive vice-president. It was less the title which concerned him than its implications.
To run the St. Gregory with absolute control was like fulfillment of a vision. Peter knew, with passionate conviction, that the St. Gregory could become a fine hotel. It could be esteemed, efficient, profitable.
Obviously, Curtis O'Keefe - whose opinion counted - thought so too.
There were means to achieve this end. They included an infusion of capital, reorganization with clearly defined areas of authority, and staff changes - retirements, promotions, and transplantings from outside.
When he had learned of the purchase of the hotel by Albert Wells, and its continued independence, Peter hoped that someone else would have the insight and impetus to make progressive changes. Now, he was to be given the opportunity himself. The prospect was exhilarating. And a little frightening.
There was a personal significance. The appointment, and what followed, would mean a restoration of Peter McDermott's status within the hotel industry. If he made a success of the St. Gregory, what had gone before would be forgotten, his account wiped clean. Hoteliers, as a group, were neither vicious nor shortsighted. In the end, achievement was what mattered most.
Peter's thoughts raced on. Still stunned, but beginning to recover, he joined the others now taking their places at a long board table near the center of the room.
Albert Wells was last to arrive. He came in shyly, escorted by Christine.
As he did, those already in the room rose to their feet.
Clearly embarrassed, the little man waved them down. "No, no! Please!"
Warren Trent stepped forward, smiling. "Mr. Wells, I welcome you to my house." They shook hands. "When it becomes your house, it will be my heartfelt wish that these old walls will bring to you as great a happiness and satisfaction as, at times, they have to me."
It was said with courtliness and grace. From anyone else, Peter McDermott thought, the words might have seemed hollow or exaggerated. Spoken by Warren Trent, they held a conviction which was strangely moving.
Albert Wells blinked. With the same courtesy, Warren Trent took his arm and personally performed the introductions.
Christine closed the outer door and joined the others at the table.
"I believe you know my assistant, Miss Francis and Mr. McDermott."
Albert Wells gave his sly, birdlike smile. "We've had a bit to do with each other." He winked at Peter. "Will do some more, I reckon."
It was Emile Dumaire who "harrumphed" and opened the proceedings.
The terms of sale, the banker pointed out, had already been substantially agreed. The purpose of the meeting, over which both Mr. Trent and Mr. Dempster had asked him to preside, was to decide upon procedures, including a date for takeover. There appeared to be no difficulties. The mortgage on the hotel, due to be foreclosed today, had been assumed pro tem by the Industrial Merchants Bank, under guarantees by Mr. Dempster, acting on behalf of Mr. Wells.
Peter caught an ironic glance from Warren Trent who, for months, had tried unsuccessfully himself to obtain renewal of the mortgage.
The banker produced a proposed agenda which he distributed. There was a brief discussion of its contents, the lawyers and Mr. Dempster participating. They then moved on to deal with the agenda point by point. Through most of what followed, both Warren Trent and Albert Wells remained spectators only, the former meditative, the little man sunk into his chair as if wishing to meld into the background. At no point did Mr. Dempster refer to Albert Wells, or even glance his way.
Obviously, the man from Montreal understood his employer's preference for avoiding attention and was used to making decisions on his own.
Peter McDermott and Royall Edwards answered questions, as they arose, affecting administration and finance. On two occasions Christine left the meeting and returned, bringing documents from the hotel files.
For all his pompousness, the banker ran a meeting well. Within less than half an hour, the principal business bad been disposed of. The official transfer date was set for Tuesday. Other minor details were left for the lawyers to arrange between them.
Emile Dumaire glanced quickly around the table. "Unless there is anything else . . ."
