CHAPTER 40: WE ALL NEED LUCK
On the Road to Downton
Sunday evening
Morgan sat in the passenger seat as Thomas drove along the Great North Road toward Downton and chattered about his impressions of the Savoy Hotel. Morgan liked Thomas. He liked the way Thomas never did anything halfway. He appreciated that Thomas cared to ask his opinion on anything and everything. He remembered how constrained Thomas had seemed when they first met a week ago at Victoria Station. Morgan thought Thomas would not last one night at the flat. Thomas not only survived but the very next morning was willing to hand himself over to Garland. And he survived that too, which was no small thing.
It was on Friday, after Bobbie had transformed Morgan into a bodyguard, that he came to understand how important the Savoy tour was to Thomas. Morgan was perched on the edge of the sofa so as not to flatten his newly fabricated thigh muscles. Thomas was drilling him on the tour questions he had jotted in his notebook. According to Bobbie, Morgan was to be his verbal veil of mystery. Thomas was to keep his mouth shut and let Morgan do all his talking and put forth his questions. They had practiced subtle hand signals that meant, yes, no, perhaps, please repeat, I don't understand, I need the WC, and get me the hell out of here.
When Morgan realized that the tour was serious business to Thomas, he offered to remove his mock muscles. He did not want to be a source of embarrassment to his new friend.
Thomas grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it."
The two friends walked the short distance from the flat to the Savoy at the appointed hour. As they approached the foyer, Morgan dropped a pace behind Thomas. Thomas stood silently at the front desk, reservedly and regally Russian, while Morgan spoke for him. "My friend is expected by Mr Reeves-Smith."
"I'm Reeves-Smith," came a pleasant voice from behind.
Thomas turned, nodded his acknowledgment, and shook Reeves-Smith's hand.
Morgan knew that Reeves-Smith was Managing Director not only of the Savoy but of all the hotels in the Savoy Group. "My friend is gratified that you have taken time from your demanding schedule to meet with him."
"Mr Novello and Mr Andrews are great friends of this hotel. I'm delighted that they recommended our particular institution for your friend's tour." Reeves-Smith leaned close to Morgan. "Do you always speak for your friend?"
Bobbie had prepared a response for this inevitable question, so Morgan was ready and eager to reply. "I'm certain no person in London is more aware than you of aristocratic eccentricities."
Reeves-Smith smiled. "I certainly would be a failure in my position if I did not keep abreast of our clientele's more unusual and endearing traits."
"Then you'll understand when I say that my friend refuses to disgrace his adopted country by speaking its language before he has mastered all its intricacies."
Reeves-Smith nodded his understanding. "We have some native Russians among our staff who would be honoured to serve as your friend's translator."
"It is my friend who is honoured by your generosity, Mr Reeves-Smith. Sadly, he remains in mourning and has taken a vow not to utter one syllable of Russian until the monarchy of his beloved homeland has been restored."
Reeves-Smith surrendered the point. "Most commendable."
"Mr Reeves-Smith, during our time together, my friend would be pleased if you would direct yourself to him."
"Yes, of course. I beg your pardon." Reeves-Smith stood erect and spoke directly to Thomas. "Shall we take care of the publicity stills? Then I'd be happy to show you our ballroom or the Grill or whatever you like."
Morgan knew that Thomas was not particularly interested in another look at the ballroom or the restaurants. "My friend would be pleased to take care of the requisite photography as quickly as possible, but please understand, Mr Reeves-Smith, that this is not a casual tour. My friend has a sincere interest in the day-to-day operation of the Savoy, knowing it is the leader among modern luxury hotels. He has many questions."
"Perhaps if you shared one or two questions with me, I would know better how to proceed," suggested Reeves-Smith.
Morgan pursed his lips for a moment. "How do you keep track of which guest is in which room and which guest has which room reserved? How do you manage the guest ledgers? How do you know how much food to have on hand in the restaurants?"
Reeves-Smith smiled. "Now I understand. You don't want a tour. You want an apprenticeship in a nutshell."
Morgan read the concern in Thomas' eyes. "My friend begs your pardon, and I hope I didn't misspeak on his behalf. He didn't mean to suggest that he could learn your business in an afternoon. Rather he hopes to depart with a better understanding of the scope and nature of operating a luxury hotel."
"I'm pleased to have the opportunity to show off the hidden complexities of the Savoy to someone with genuine interest." Reeves-Smith assured Thomas. He caught sight of the photographer and waved. "Here's the photographer. He'll snap us shaking hands, and then I'll see what I can do about your questions."
Reeves-Smith was committed to a string of appointments that afternoon and could not guide Thomas and Morgan personally. Instead he made a few phone calls giving clear instructions to the various Savoy managers. As Thomas made his way around the hotel, each manager was to explain the purpose of his or her department and answer any questions.
Morgan was excited by what he and Thomas encountered. The Savoy was a universe unto itself. The hotel had florists and hairdressers, a Works Department, a power plant, and its own artesian well. Morgan had never seen a switchboard before or heard the discordant music of a fast-paced office ... clacking typewriters, ringing telephones, buzzing intercoms, and demanding voices. He was certain that no office in London was more fast-paced than the Savoy's Enquiry Office.
Morgan and Thomas met Walter Hore, the Assistant Secretary to the Company, who explained the ingenious audit and bookkeeping system he had devised for the hotel. They met Mrs Kate Butler, Lady Superintendent, an older woman who managed with aplomb each floor's housekeepers, chambermaids, and valets. They met Harry Craddock, the Head Bartender at the American Bar who had created a cocktail two days earlier in honour of Thomas. He called it The Butler. They met Francois Latry, maître chef of the restaurant, for whom the telephone was an essential tool in managing large parties. The Banqueting Manager would phone Latry to say that the diners had been seated or to provide whatever other cue the maître chef had requested so that he could fine tune the timing of his chefs, sous-chefs, and servers.
The last person they met was the manager of the Savoy Grill, Loreto Santarelli. Before they entered the Grill, Morgan whispered to Thomas that Santarelli was quickly becoming one of the best-known men in London. Morgan could see that Thomas was impressed by the tall, handsome Italian in his swallow tails. Santarelli told Thomas that he had begun as a waiter in Rome at the age of 19. Before that, he had been educated at a seminary. His family had expected him to become a priest.
"I wish English people wouldn't be so courteous," Santarelli complained, much to Morgan's and Thomas' amusement. "Sometimes I get quite annoyed. London is a gourmet's paradise now. Even Paris can't compare. Why has the Englishman this reputation for not knowing good food? Because the Englishman will never, never make a fuss."
Morgan was sorry to do it, but he was forced to remind Thomas of his promise to attend Cooper's show that night. Thomas shook Santarelli's hand as Morgan spoke for him. "My friend has found his visit to be informative and rewarding. He sincerely wishes you the best of luck although he is certain you will have success with or without luck." Morgan and Thomas exited the Savoy in a dignified manner until they thought they were out of sight. Then they dashed up the Strand to the flat so that Thomas could change into his evening clothes and Morgan could rush Novello to the Queen's Theatre and return in time to drive Thomas and Bobbie to the St. James'.
In the car, Bobbie delivered a message from Coward. He could not attend that evening's performance but would meet them later at the Savoy as planned. Thomas insisted that Morgan take Coward's seat in the box. Bobbie agreed, but once inside, he asked Morgan to sit at the rear of the box. "It will help create the illusion that you're Thomas' bodyguard," he whispered. Morgan assured Thomas that he would be able to see the stage perfectly well from the rear, and Thomas was satisfied.
Thomas retrieved his notebook from his breast pocket. Then, to Morgan's and Bobbie's astonishment, he pulled stationery, pen, ink, and blotting paper from his many pockets and set them on the floor. He opened his notebook to the list of Savoy staff he had met and began writing personal notes of appreciation. Bobbie objected, but Thomas promised to stop the instant the house lights dimmed, and he kept his promise.
Morgan sat happily at the rear of the box, muscles and all, making a show of scanning the theatre for Bolsheviks and potential assassins until the lights dimmed. The play was a comedy, The Last of Mrs Cheyney, in which Cooper played the title character. At first, Mrs Cheyney appeared to be a society woman on a weekend visit, accompanied by her butler. As the first act progressed, it was revealed that both Mrs Cheyney and her butler were jewel thieves intent on stealing a £50,000 pearl necklace from their hostess. Morgan found the dialogue amusing, and he thought Cooper was sparkling.
During the two intermissions, Thomas picked up his pen and continued to write. In the second act, Mrs Cheyney and her butler were caught red-handed by Lord Dilling, played by Sir Gerald du Maurier, whom Morgan thought was very good. The rest of the play involved humorous attempts at blackmail, first a failed attempt by Lord Dilling and then a successful attempt by Mrs Cheyney.
At the final curtain, Thomas and Bobbie stepped out of the box, leaving Morgan to watch the fun. He applauded all of the actors, clapping as loudly as he could manage when Cooper took her bow. As soon as Cooper straightened, Thomas appeared at the edge of the stage, and the audience hushed. Cooper curtsied to Thomas, just as Bankhead had. When Cooper arose, Thomas strode across the stage and kissed her hand, eliciting many a sigh from audience members.
Morgan thought Thomas was convincing as a blue blood. He strode confidently to the side of the stage and extended his arm out-of-sight of the audience. When he brought back his hand, he was holding a black leash studded in rhinestones. At the other end of the leash was a black rhinestone collar around the neck of a frolicking white baby goat.
Morgan had told Thomas that Cooper was an animal lover and kept a small menagerie at Charlwood, her rented home in Surrey. Giving her a baby goat had been Thomas' idea, and Bobbie made the arrangements. As predicted, Cooper was charmed by the gambolling kid. She ran across the stage and picked up the little creature. "Do you know what I'm going to name it?" she asked the audience.
The audience shouted all sorts of suggestions, "Mrs Cheyney," "Champ," "Jack Hobbs," until Cooper raised her hand.
"I'm going to name it, Butler, of course," announced Cooper. The audience showed its collective approval with applause and laughter.
Morgan realized Bobbie would be looking for him. He left the box, ran down the steps, and found Bobbie backstage. He watched Cooper and Thomas walk offstage together with Cooper holding the leash. "Thoms, was this your idea?"
"Yes. Do you like it Glads?"
"Of course I like it!"
"Good," laughed Thomas, "because the damn thing pissed all over my trouser leg before I came onstage."
"Oh no," laughed Cooper. "You can't get into the Savoy in that state!"
"That's right! What do I do, Bobbie?"
As always, Bobbie was unruffled. "We'll figure out something. Gladys, do you mind dropping us at the flat after you've changed?"
"Of course not. Gurney should be waiting with the car now."
"Morgan, please deliver the little beast to Gurney, pick up Ivor, and bring him to the flat."
"Wait, Morgan." Thomas pulled envelopes from each of his pockets. "Please drop these at the hotel."
Outside, Morgan handed the little goat's leash to Gurney, who said, "Omygawd, Cuthbert won't like it!" Morgan knew that Cuthbert was Cooper's temperamental monkey who at times had bitten Novello, du Maurier, and even Cooper.
After Morgan picked up Novello and dropped him at the flat, he walked to the Savoy and handed Thomas' envelopes to Victor, the short, round reception clerk he and Thomas had met that afternoon. Victor asked Morgan to wait. He disappeared and reappeared carrying a pair of evening trousers. "Mr Novello telephoned and explained your little emergency. I believe these are the correct length for your friend."
Morgan grinned. "And to which gentleman do they belong?"
Victor shrugged. "That's not important. Returning them first thing tomorrow, however, is important."
A half hour later, Morgan followed Novello, Thomas, and Bobbie into the Savoy Grill. He stationed himself near the entrance and watched as the three men took their seats at Coward's table. There was no music or dancing in the Grill, only good conversation, good gossip, good food, and good wine. Bobbie had selected the Grill for that night's event because he knew Morgan's presence would not be tolerated in the restaurant where evening dress was mandatory. A waiter took the men's orders, and Novello turned to wave happily at friends seated at other tables.
Morgan knew Thomas was starving and felt his own stomach churn. Because of the hotel tour, they had both missed tea. Morgan squirmed impatiently until two men appeared from the waiters' entrance wearing overcoats. Their collars were pulled up and hat brims pulled down so that only their noses were visible. Morgan nodded to Bobbie, who alerted the others. As if of one mind, Novello, Thomas, and Bobbie stood and exited the Grill. Morgan and Coward accosted the two overcoated men and quickly manoeuvred them out whence they came.
"Let's see what the papers make of that little scene," chuckled Coward.
"I don't think anyone noticed," replied Morgan.
"Oh, they noticed. Believe me, they noticed."
Morgan bade goodnight to Coward and rushed to catch up with the others. He was stopped by Santarelli who had followed him out to the Strand. "Please tell your friend that I received his kind note. Would you deliver a message for me?"
"Certainly."
"Please tell him that he's not too old to make a career change. Yes, many of us at the Savoy grew up in hotels and restaurants, but his life in service makes him better suited to this work than he believes." Santarelli handed his card to Morgan. "He must write me with his questions, and I will answer them as best I can."
"He'll appreciate that, Mr Santarelli."
"And please, tell your friend that we all need luck. He'll need luck, too. What he won't need is this Russian ruse."
Morgan smiled. "I'll tell him."
"And tell him to consider the States. Americans love an upstart."
