The Willard (5 page)

“Welcome to the Willard,
Olivia
,” he said. “You know I don’t feel right calling you that.”

He offered her his arm and they walked to the door.

“That’s because you have excellent breeding, my dear Edward, but I insist. We’re a couple of old birds in this town and if old birds can’t call each other by their given names then who can?”

It was fine to talk about old birds but Chase knew even the President of the United States had not been asked to call her by her given name. “Because he’s a Democrat, darling Edward,” she had once told him with a smile. “And I refuse to give a
Democrat
the satisfaction!”

Olivia Fordham was a legend in Washington and in New York where she lived full time. Her late husband had been one of the country’s richest men, having made his fortune in the 1950s in land development. A decade before, he had bought up thousands of acres in Texas, Oklahoma, Illinois, and New York. After the war he started selling them off one at a time, each with an affordable home on top where returning GIs could raise a family. He developed hundreds of planned subdivisions and bought more land with the money. It was making him a rich man, but it was nothing compared to the windfall when large portions of his Texas and Oklahoma land were found to be sitting on top of generous oil reserves. Eventually he dabbled in mutual funds and his keen business sense served him well in all his endeavors. He’d had a hand in dozens of businesses by the time he met Olivia Asher in 1964. She was a brilliant coed with
plans to become a lawyer. He saw her for the first time walking down Fifth Avenue in New York. She had long, raven hair that shone in the midday sun, and she walked with an air of confidence about her. Their two-year courtship was a struggle because she believed marrying him would mean giving up her own dreams. He finally convinced her they could dream together and they married in 1966. He was forty-seven. She was twenty-four.

Before long, it became apparent to both Robert and Olivia that she had a head for business and instead of practicing law she eventually became his most trusted executive. She bought new businesses and grew them all over the world. They bought the house in Georgetown in 1970 and kept Robert’s Park Avenue apartment where she still lived. For thirty-two years they were happy, even though they had no children, a disappointment to both of them. Their fairy tale came to an end when Robert died suddenly in 1998. Olivia had been a youthful woman of fifty-six when she became a widow, but the idea of marrying again was a nonstarter. Within a year she had turned the day-to-day operation of their global business over to a trusted CEO and opened the Robert L. Fordham Institute, which was devoted to charitable causes around the world. The institute had become her passion and while she had gentlemen callers, as she referred to them, she took her role as Mrs. Robert Fordham very seriously and let nothing interfere with the work they both held dear. Robert had always talked of spending his last years giving away a great deal of the money he had made. Olivia was committed to seeing that happen.

The staff was handling her luggage as they always did as she and Chase proceeded to her accommodations. Olivia was a frequent and very high-profile guest of the hotel and her billing was always handled between her assistant and the front desk. Only a few steps from the elevator, Chase stopped with her outside the double doors to her usual suite.

“It’s so wonderful to have you back with us, Olivia. Please do call upon me if there is anything at all that I can do for you,” he said as he opened the door and held it for her to walk through.

“It’s so good to be back, Edward. It feels like home,” Olivia said as she took the key from him. There was no exchange of tip at that point. Olivia was extremely generous with all the staff who served her at the hotel and she quietly arranged for their gratuity when she checked out each time. It was a pet peeve of hers to see people in service treated like servants and she felt that passing a few dollars from hand to hand was demeaning. Her way was better, she was sure of it. And the staff seemed to love it. They were all happy to see her in the hotel.

Edward let himself out of the grand suite and walked to the elevator. Without a doubt he was always glad to see Mrs. Fordham, but he couldn’t shake the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew something she didn’t, that this trip would be different than the others. But it had to be her. He had wrestled with the decision and determined it simply had to be her. She could do the job. And she, maybe more than anyone, would appreciate the opportunity, once it was all over of course. Sometimes he really disliked his job. Edward stepped into the elevator still telling himself she would appreciate the opportunity.

It wasn’t home but it had really grown on her over the past few years. Olivia always stayed in the Jefferson Suite when she was at the Willard. It was easy to forget one was in a hotel in this suite. It was really more like an apartment and much bigger than many New York apartments she had seen. From the double door entrance she stepped across the black and white checked marble floor of the sunlight-flooded foyer to the hall table where she laid her purse and checked her makeup in the mirror.
You could use a touch-up old girl
, she said to herself. A lovely powder room was behind her in the foyer but she didn’t
go in. It would be used by her guests during her stay. Taking a right off the foyer brought her to the bedroom with its cherry bed and separate sitting area. The wall of windows faced out onto Pennsylvania Avenue, the National Mall, and the Washington Monument. The bedroom had an elegantly appointed bath and dressing room and she knew the staff would have her things expertly arranged shortly. Crossing back though the foyer she entered the first parlor. This was the room she would use the most. It had ample seating, all in reproductions of furnishings found in the White House in shades of red and gold, and a flat screen television centered on a wall of built-in cabinetry. There was also a desk conveniently placed near the windows with the same view as the bedroom. Further into the suite was the second parlor, this one slightly smaller and more formal. She would host her highest profile guests here for tea as it was nearest to the dining room. A second marble-floored area led to the exquisite oval dining room, which faced 14
^th
street at an angle that allowed for a view all the way to the Capitol. The room seated 8–10 for dinner in total elegance. Beyond the dining room was a butler’s pantry with a separate entrance and a second bedroom that could be included if needed. All in all, it was more than 3,000 square feet of supreme luxury and the staff’s impeccable service made it even more special because anything Olivia or her guests could possibly need was only a phone call away.

The bellman and two maids arrived to unpack her things. They were familiar to her as they normally worked exclusively for Mrs. Fordham when she was in residence. She asked them about their families and told them how happy she was to see them before taking some papers from her bag and sitting down at the desk in the first parlor.

She had several invitations that were awaiting responses. In her youth, Olivia had loved to attend parties. Now it was more of a chore with her beloved Robert gone. He had kept her
entertained by whispering in her ear all the juicy gossip surrounding the biggest names in business and government as they endured the long evenings. He had told her who had skeletons in the closet, who was sleeping with whom, and who was just plain in the closet altogether. He had a gift for finding the humor in every situation and she missed having him with her. But the parties were important to her work. All were benefits for causes she supported. Only rarely did she attend a party that didn’t have a cause attached to it. While she was in town for the week she would attend four galas where she would be presenting checks totaling nearly thirty million dollars. But that wasn’t the main reason she had come. Beginning first thing in the morning she would host representatives of the Smithsonian Institute and diplomats from around the world here in her suite to put the final touches on the ceremony planned for the end of the week. At the event, an announcement would be made that the Robert L. Fordham Institute would be making a donation of $500 million to open a new museum under the auspices of the Smithsonian. The Fordham Museum of Philanthropy would be a combination exhibition and working center for charitable giving. It would showcase not only the work of large-scale philanthropists like the Fordhams, the Astors and the Gateses, but also the impact of grassroots fundraising and charity by everyone from children to church groups to corporations. Olivia dreamed it would stand as a beacon to the importance of voluntary giving with a global reach.

She finished her RSVPs and handed them off to a hotel courier to be hand delivered. The staff had finished unpacking her belongings and one of her regular maids had left a silk dressing gown on the bed for her. She knew Mrs. Fordham liked to relax when she arrived. Olivia changed clothes and hung her lavender suit in the closet. On cue, room service delivered her afternoon tea and she settled onto the sofa with a cup of Earl Grey and her datebook. She had a leather appointment book,
also Hermes, that had been a gift from Robert years before. She carried it everywhere with her even though she used a smartphone for everything else. Her appointments, like her thank you notes, were handwritten. She liked paging through to see where she was going and where she had been. She checked the date, March 1. She had a great deal to do before the event on the fifth. In years past, she would have booked appointments for the afternoon of her arrival but at age seventy-one she simply didn’t have the stamina for it. She finished her tea and went to the bedroom for the afternoon power nap that had become a regular habit for her the year before. She found that it gave her the energy she would need for the long evenings of charity events and it helped keep her mind sharp.

As she drew the drapes she thought for the millionth time what a beautiful view the room had. She never tired of looking at it. Olivia approached her naps as temporary stops so she never turned down the linens. She reclined on top of the white duvet and pulled the throw blanket over her. She let her mind wander over the details she still needed to arrange, but before long sleep claimed her as it did every afternoon, no matter how busy she was.

When she awoke half an hour later she didn’t feel as refreshed as she would have liked. Traveling was beginning to take more of a toll on her, but she wouldn’t allow herself the indulgence of any more time in bed.

She got up and went back to the windows to open the drapes. As she reached for the pull cord she heard a loud noise that was so out of place it startled her. It reminded her of the sound of old car horns from the early 1900s.
Ahruuuuuuuga!
That thought had just crossed her mind when she pulled back the blackout drape and looked down onto Pennsylvania Avenue. The honking continued as a traffic jam had developed at the corner of 14
^th
Street. Traffic jams in Washington were as
common as lobbyists, but Olivia Fordham had never seen one made up entirely of Model Ts.

C
HAPTER 6

CATHERINE PARKER

1865

The carriage Mr. Chase had arranged for Catherine didn’t take her to the offices of an international business law firm. It was apparent right away that the only business that seemed to matter in this town was the kind that got worked out on the battlefield. Soldiers were everywhere in their blue wool uniforms. As they marched she could see the weariness in their steps. The carriage stopped in front of a lovely three-story townhouse and the driver helped her down.

“Whose house is this?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know the answer to your question. I was given this address and told to drop you off here.” He held out a piece of paper and when she saw the address written on it she was confused. It was the address of the law firm she was supposed to visit. She had researched the firm well and had seen photos of their posh, modern offices with stunning views of the Capitol. Looking toward the Capitol she could tell it was the same basic view, but this was no office building. She told the driver to wait and walked to the front door. Reaching up, she knocked loudly with the brass doorknocker that was shaped like a lion with a giant ring in his mouth. When no one answered she started to turn back toward the driver and that’s when she saw it. There was a name on a placard beside the door.

Lawrence Cameron
, read the name. Catherine’s head swam as she tried to make sense of that name, at that address, and the realization that she was supposed to meet with Lawrence Cameron IV at that very same address this morning before the whole world had gone topsy-turvy. The carriage driver looked concerned as his passenger walked slowly out of the gate with a glazed look on her face.

“Miss, would you like to go back to the hotel?”

Catherine didn’t answer. She turned without a word and began walking down the street, leaving the driver to wonder if the young lady had seen a ghost.

The rutted streets made for a difficult crossing. As if it hadn’t been hard enough maneuvering into the old-fashioned clothes and fastening the tiny buttons on the shoes that were in the closet of her hotel room, now Catherine had to dodge the tripping hazards of the dirt roads while trying to keep her skirt out of the muddy pits that seemed to be everywhere. It was too much for her mind to take in to figure out how all this was happening. One thing she had been sure of right away: the corset hanging in the closet wasn’t going to get any use if she had her way.