Page 5 of Lady Scandal
Simon met her resentful gaze with an imperturbable one of his own. “My obligation is to the Savoy shareholders, and that obligation requires responsible fiscal management. Eliminating unneeded staff is one of the best ways to increase efficiency, which is my primary task. And since this office became empty with Mrs. Alverson’s departure, yes, my secretary and I have moved into it.”
She glanced at the second desk in the crowded room, empty at the present moment, then looked at him again, a smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes. “How delightful to know that one of us, at least, still has a secretary,” she murmured, her voice a purr. “But tell me,” she added before he could reply, “just how does it increase efficiency to not consult me before deciding my secretary was one of the unneeded?”
Her voice trembled as she asked the question, revealing the anger behind it.
He couldn’t blame her for that; he’d feel the same. No one liked being undermined, but it had been unavoidable under the circumstances. Still, given Helen’s suspicions and his own observations thus far, he could not allow himself to be swayed by anyone’s hurt feelings. “Had you been here, I would have informed you of my decision and why it was made,” he began. “But—”
“You couldn’t have had the courtesy to wait for my return?”
Interrupted for the third time since making her acquaintance, he could have pointed out that courtesy went both ways, but he refrained. “Obviously not,” he said instead.
The hostility she displayed had become familiar to Simon thesepast three weeks. During that time, the other heads of staff had made it quite plain that their loyalty was to Ritz, Escoffier, Echenard, and Lady Stratham, and that he was an interloper. Some resentment was inevitable, but in this case, he was hampered by the staff’s loyalty to Ritz, and also, oddly enough, by his title.
Because of his low birth and recent elevation to the peerage, many of the staff here considered him not as a lord, but as a poseur, his title nothing more than a bad joke. While he might secretly agree with them about that, he could not afford to show it. And respect, he well knew, had to be earned. But as he studied the resentment in the face of the woman before him, he also appreciated that earning that respect and straightening out the mess the Savoy had become were going to be far more difficult than he’d originally anticipated. He was beginning to feel like Hercules cleaning the Augean Stables.
Still, the difficulties did not matter.
Helen and Richard Carte had asked for his help, and he would have cut off his right arm rather than refuse to give it. He owed them more than he could ever repay. His own father’s petty thefts and subsequent suicide fifteen years ago had devastated his mother, cost her her job, and tainted her good name. In the army and stationed in Africa, he’d been unable to be of much help, and if it hadn’t been for Richard Carte, there was no telling what might have happened to his mother and his sister, Cassandra. Few people knew about his father’s disgrace, and most of those who did had long ago forgotten, but Simon would never forget. His father’s legacy of dishonesty and cowardice was one he was determined to destroy, not only for himself, but also for his sister’s sake. Richard and the other members of the board had put their trust in him despite his father’s criminal history, and he could not fail them.
“It’s a complicated situation, Lady Stratham,” he said at last, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. “Please come in and sit down,and I will explain it as best I can. You can stand if you like, of course,” he added pleasantly when she didn’t move, “but with the full and fatiguing day you’ve indicated you have ahead of you, I’d have thought you would wish to sit while you can.”
When she continued to hesitate, he pulled out his own chair and sat down, defying the protocol of always waiting for a lady to sit first, and reached for the manila folder containing his notes about her. He paused, opened the folder, and looked up at her again. “It’s up to you.”
She seemed to perceive the challenge behind his mild words. With a toss of her head, she came into his office and crossed to his desk. “I fear the most fatiguing aspect of my day shall prove to be you,” she said making a rueful face as she sank into the offered chair opposite him.
“Whether that proves true rather depends on you.”
“Does it?” she countered. “I seem to have little control over things within my purview, including my own staff, since you appeared on the scene.”
“If you are referring to Mrs. Alverson,” he began, but she shook her head.
“Not only her. I was also thinking of Michel, whose artistic sensibilities you’ve offended with your notions about his floral arrangements.”
“I expect he’ll recover.”
If she perceived the dryness of that reply, she didn’t show it. “And Mrs. Bates? The poor woman is cranky as a bear this morning, and I can only assume that is also because of you and your interference.”
“Change is always upsetting.”
“Especially when that change is not done through the proper channels. I can appreciate that you have a job to do—though what has precipitated it, I can’t imagine. Nonetheless, protocol would dictate that you take your findings and recommendations to Ritz orEchenard. They would then discuss them with me or with Escoffier, and we would discuss them with our own members of staff, deciding what to do with their help and cooperation. That’s how things are handled here at the Savoy.”
Simon rubbed a hand over his forehead, repressing the sound of exasperation that hovered on his lips, fearing that if he heard the prim, stonewalling little phrase “That’s not quite how we do it here” one more time, he was going to put his head through a wall.
“Given that you now report to me, not to Ritz,” he said aloud, “the protocol you describe is no longer relevant. And,” he added before she could reply, “we can sit here all morning debating how the Savoy used to do things, but that would be a waste of time, since many of those procedures will be changing in the weeks ahead.”
“Seems they’ve been changing quite a bit already.”
“And will continue to do so. I suggest you accept the situation with as much grace as you can muster.”
“Ritz has been a successful hotel manager for many years. Isn’t it rather arrogant to assume you’ve got a better way than he does?”
“Hardly,” he shot back, “given the abysmal lack of proper management I’ve been seeing here ever since my arrival.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Ritz, though he didn’t know it, was in a precarious position, as were many other members of the hotel staff, including the woman before him. Profits had been eroding steadily during the past year, and when a detailed, damning anonymous letter had reached the board’s attention last autumn—accusing Ritz, Echenard, and Escoffier of a slew of abuses—the members had voted to launch a secret investigation.
For months, private detectives had been secretly following those named in the letter and delving into the accusations mentioned by the author. The results so far had borne out the truth of thoseaccusations, uncovering improprieties, foolish extravagance, and questionable decisions at every level. Worse, there were clear indications of fraud on a massive scale. As a result, the board had brought in Simon to supervise an audit of the finances, clear out the corruption, and put the hotel back on a profitable track.
As the owner of several hotels himself, hotels he’d salvaged from the wreckage of bankruptcy, he was uniquely qualified to handle this assignment. But, although he had gladly agreed to help the Cartes and he welcomed the challenge and opportunities this project afforded him, he could not say he relished the secrecy required here. He loathed subterfuge. It went against his nature.
