The Chosen

The Carriage House to make a profit. For it to make a profit it would have to attract an influx of business—”

“Yes!” she wanted the shout. “And I can do that. I can get customers in here if—”

“And I reiterate,” Feldspar cut her off. “That’s what we don’t want. I’ve told you time and time again, haven’t I, we intend for The Inn’s profits to be generated from a very exclusive and select clientele. An amplitude of outside restaurant business might only sully The Inn’s overall reputation in their eyes.”

Vera frowned good and hard at that one. Select clientele, the words drifted. What Feldspar meant was he didn’t want townspeople crowding the restaurant for fear that one of his rich, hoity-toity select clientele might see them. It seemed almost a bigotry, Feldspar’s refusal to allow his secretive, wealthy guests to mix company with the middle class. This is useless, she dismissed. One day I’ll learn not to argue with him.

“So, how are things going otherwise?” he inquired next, running a stray, ringed finger along the dark goatee.

“Fine, I suppose. I’m still getting some funny complaints though. Unfriendly housemaids, noisy elevator doors. Some of your suite guests must be partying a little loud. I had some reservations in my rooms, and they complained about noise.”

Feldspar merely shrugged. “Can’t be helped. As they say, you can’t please everyone.” He chuckled slightly, sipping his Remy. “I’d rather your guests be the ones complaining than room service’s.”

This remark was very difficult not to respond to. Vera could almost feel her face pinken.

“I’m sorry,” he noticed. “I’ve offended you. You take things too personally, Ms. Abbot. Room service’s business is purely and simply more important to The Inn than the restaurant’s. As an experienced businesswoman, you should have no qualms with that.”

“I don’t,” she said, leaning back behind her desk. “It’s just frustrating sometimes. I know I could make The Carriage House tick.”

“But what you must understand, Ms. Abbot, is this. You are making it tick. You’ve turned The Carriage House into exactly what we need, and if you are able to maintain that, the rewards will be considerable. I’ve told you in the past, if you can maintain the highest standards of quality at the restaurant, your future with Magwyth Enterprises is virtually limitless.”

It’s not hard to maintain the highest standards of quality when you’ve got a one million dollar business account and your boss doesn’t care how you spend it. Vera wanted to laugh.

“And, as I’ve also told you, when your contract here expires you’ll be free to transfer to any of our other exclusive inns, abroad.”

So you’ve told me, she thought. Over and over.

“Well, I best be off now. A rather lofty New York brokerage is planning to have their anniversary banquet here next month. I’m expecting a call.” Feldspar got up and set down his snifter. Quite abruptly, then, but just as calmly, he asked, “Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight, Ms. Abbot?”

Vera was taken aback. “I—well, yes, of course. But I have to work.”

“A mere formality, since we’ll be dining at your restaurant.” He smiled at her. “Nine o’clock?”

“That would be fine. Dinner’ll be winding down.”

“Until then…” He limped out of her office, presumably back to his own. Vera’s