A Race to Splendor Read Online Free PDF Page B

remember that, Mr. Thayer.”
    And before her despised adversary could respond or defend the changes already wrought at the Bay View, she marched through the swinging brass-framed doors with a brief, stricken nod to Joseph, the hotel’s longtime doorman. Barbary, her grandfather’s faithful hound, stood sentinel beside the hotel’s majordomo, and when he wagged his tail at her passing, she nearly burst into tears.
    Amelia virtually sprinted down Taylor Street, hardly glancing at the Bay View’s newest competitor, the spanking new Fairmont Hotel crowning the hill and due to open its doors to the public soon. She boarded a cable car poised on the summit of Nob Hill and blindly sat down on the hard, wooden bench, her chin on her chest so no one would see the moisture streaming down her cheeks.
    Nothing in this world or the next could make her turn around to watch the Bay View Hotel receding from view.
    ***
    Number One cable car squeaked and creaked down California Street past the quiet world of Nob Hill in early morning, toward the Ferry Building at the foot of the steep incline. The few people out at this hour went about their business in the usual fashion, yet to Amelia, everything was changed.
    As far as she’d heard from Grady, no one—including Thayer or Kemp—had caught even a glimpse of Henry Bradshaw since the day of Amelia’s fiery arrival at the basement office of the Bay View. Brushing the moisture from her cheeks with her gloved hand, she finally raised her head to look out at the sapphire and green water at the foot of California Street, trying to convince herself that she hoped the father whose drunken behavior had caused her mother and her so much heartache had drowned himself in San Francisco Bay.
    By quarter to eight, she had trudged from Market Street to the office building on Montgomery where Julia Morgan had established her fledgling architectural firm barely two years earlier. Nothing prepared her, however, for the small room on the ninth floor where slanted drafting boards were crammed into a space that could barely accommodate three normal-sized desks. The place had nothing in common with the airy ateliers she and Julia enjoyed while studying at L’École. Those featured large, open spaces and floor-to-ceiling windows to allow for natural light and a glimpse of the rooftops of Paris.
    The glass door to Julia’s minuscule inner office was guarded by a table where a secretary pounded the keys of her typewriting machine.
    “Well, my stars!” the young woman exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. “Amelia Bradshaw, you are a sight for sore eyes!” Blonde and pretty as a milkmaid, Amelia’s former college classmate Lacy Fiske rushed to embrace her. “Dear, dear Amelia,” the young woman added with burbling sympathy, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am about the loss of your grandfather and what’s happened at your family’s hotel.”
    Amelia gazed with surprise at the buoyant Miss Fiske. Lacy had been the person least likely of all the women she’d known at Berkeley to end up as an office mate. Lacy had changed her field of studies so often during college, Amelia didn’t actually know which department at Berkeley had ultimately granted her friend a degree. She was pleased, however, to see that the younger woman had finally settled on office administration.
    Lacy reached out and gently patted Amelia on the shoulder.
    “Your grandfather was such a dear man. I have so many happy memories of parties at the Bay View when we were in school.”
    As usual, Amelia found herself fighting tears whenever someone spoke kindly of Charlie Hunter, the only person in the world that had stood between herself as a little girl and the utter chaos of her parents’ disastrous marriage. Lacy sensed Amelia’s distress and immediately changed the subject.
    “I can’t believe it. Since we saw each other last, I’ve finally learned to type—can you fancy?—and you’ve become an architect!” She eyed the empty