Murder at the Arizona Biltmore E-Book

Edward Marston

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Merlin Richards
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 350

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

First published as Murder in Perspective under Keith Miles. Chasing his dream of a glittering architectural career, Merlin Richards has left the Welsh valleys for the Arizona desert, propelled by a handwritten note from the legendary Frank Lloyd Wright. Richards arrives at the Arizona Biltmore hotel, where he meets a beautiful young designer named Rosa Lustig. Like every man in her circle, Merlin is captivated by Rosa but soon finds himself the prime suspect in her murder. Jealous suitors, envious workers, and the cynical police are all convinced that Richards is the killer. As he begins to put the pieces of the puzzle together, what he builds is not the impressive edifice he came to learn about, but a defence that will imprison a murderer.

Leseprobe

PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON

‘A master storyteller’

Daily Mail

‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’

Time Out

‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’

Sunday Telegraph

‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues. Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’

Historical Novels Review

‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’

The Guardian

MURDER AT THE ARIZONA BILTMORE

Edward Marston

In memory of my brother, Alan. With love and thanks to Barbara Peters who took me to lunch at the Arizona Biltmore and inadvertently set this novel in motion. It was a great meal.

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGEDEDICATIONFOREWORDCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENCHAPTER NINETEENCHAPTER TWENTYCHAPTER TWENTY-ONEPOSTSCRIPTACKNOWLEDGMENTSABOUT THE AUTHORBY EDWARD MARSTONCOPYRIGHT

FOREWORD

After ninety-four years, the Arizona Biltmore is still one of the finest resort hotels in the whole of America. Built as a jewel in the desert, it is now a haven of peace and opulence in the huge urban sprawl of Phoenix. Who designed it? Albert Chase McArthur was the architect, but the influence of Frank Lloyd Wright is so great as to be overwhelming. Arguments about which of them deserves the real credit have added to the mystique surrounding the hotel. This novel is a fanciful exploration of that mystique. The ideal place to read it is in the beautiful lobby of the Biltmore itself. Sit there long enough, and the ghost of Frank Lloyd Wright will brush gently past your shoulder.

CHAPTER ONE

Wales.Autumn, 1928

Every man is entitled to one act of madness in his life. That was too meagre a ration for Merlin Richards. With the hot blood of idealism in his veins, he went for a hat trick. He resigned from his job, he decided to go to America, and he elected to take the harp with him. Lunacy in triplicate.

His father gave a clear diagnosis.

‘It’s insanity, Merlin!’

‘Not to me, Dad.’

‘You can’t just walk out on us like this.’

‘If I don’t make the break now, I never will.’

‘Why make it at all?’

‘Because I must.’

Daniel Richards winced. He was a tall, thin man with ascetic features and a voice so rarely raised in anger that it was out of practice. When it hit a higher octave, it cracked into falsetto, ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, mun?’ he demanded. ‘People have been dragged off to the asylum for less than this. You’ve got everything – and you’re throwing it away! It’s madness. Go on like this, and you’ll end up in a straitjacket.’

‘I’m already in one,’ said his son reasonably. ‘Don’t you see that?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘I have to escape.’

His father was incredulous. ‘From what? The practice? The town? The family? Architecture? What the hell are you supposed to be escaping from, Merlin?’

‘Us.’

‘Us?’

‘Yes, Dad,’ he said softly. ‘You and me.’

There was a hurt silence. Merlin hated having to wound his father so deeply. Daniel Richards was the senior partner in the largest architectural practice in Merthyr Tydfil. His dearest wish had been fulfilled when his only son joined him at the drawing board, forging another link in the Richards family chain. The thought that Merlin now wanted to walk out of the practice induced a glassy-eyed disbelief.

‘You and me?’ repeated Daniel. ‘All this?’

His gesture took in the entire room and – by extension – the whole relationship between father and son. They were standing in Daniel’s office, a place as piously neat and symmetrical as the man himself. Desk, chairs, cupboards, and cabinets were set at perfect right angles to one another. Every drawing was in its portfolio, every scrap of correspondence filed away, every pencil sharpened and ready for the morrow. A ruler had been used to draw a straight line through each dead day on the calendar. The sense of organisation was overwhelming.

That holy lust for order could be seen most clearly in Daniel’s work. All over the Welsh valleys, residential housing, civic buildings, commercial properties, and recreational facilities designed by Daniel Richards attempted to impose shape and definition on the topographical anarchy surrounding them. Merlin nodded. ‘All this,’ he confirmed.

‘But I thought you liked it here.’

‘I do. It’s one of the reasons I have to go.’

‘Your career is just starting to open up.’

‘I know, Dad.’

‘I’ve got wonderful plans for you,’ said Daniel. ‘The practice is ready to expand. When you’ve had a few more years’ experience, I intend to open that branch in Cardiff that we’ve always talked about. That’s why I’m grooming you so carefully, Merlin. To run the Cardiff office as smoothly and efficiently as I run this one.’ He smiled, a little hopelessly. ‘It would be a challenge for you.’

‘No, Dad.’

‘Don’t you like the idea?’

‘For the practice, yes. You should have opened a branch in Cardiff years ago. That’s where the money is and where the real development is taking place. Merthyr is on the slide. Don’t miss out on opportunities elsewhere.’ Merlin gave an apologetic shrug. ‘But what’s good for the practice is not good for me. I just can’t stay, that’s all.’

‘Why not?’

Merlin hesitated, searching in vain for words. There was no way that he could let his father down easily.

‘Why not?’ Daniel, wounded, asked again.

‘Because I don’t want my future to be so predictable. I want to live my own life, Dad. Not have it designed on the drawing board by you. I’m a human being, not another commission for the practice. Your way is too safe and linear. It leaves me no room for mistakes or adventures or real growth. Yes,’ he continued quickly as his father tried to protest, ‘I know that you’ve given me an enormous amount of help, and I’m grateful for that, believe me. You gave me a wonderful start. But I must strike out on my own. Don’t you understand that, Dad? I must find my own voice.’

Daniel Richards, his tongue turned to paper, had lost his. Merlin’s decision was a blow to him both as a father and as a professional colleague. An architectural practice that he had inherited from his own father might now be heading for extinction. There was nobody else in the family to carry on the tradition.

Merlin, seeing his pain, fought to hold back tears. A big, broad-shouldered young man with the physique of a miner but the sensitivity and soft hands of an artist, he had a round face, a strong chin, a crooked nose, and short fair hair that spilt from a wayward centre parting. Though he wore a suit, he looked somehow slovenly. Pencils and pens jostled for space in his top pocket. His tie was loose, one cuff smudged with ink. His trousers were baggy. There was an amiable chaos about Merlin Richards.

It was not appreciated at that moment by his father. When his voice came back, it was dark with rancour.

‘You’re leaving us in the lurch. Do you realise that?’

‘You’ll soon find someone to replace me.’

‘Not from the family!’

‘I can’t do anything about that.’

‘Of course you can, Merlin. You can do what I’ve done for the last thirty-five years. Stay here to do your duty.’

‘I need to spread my wings.’

‘I wanted to do the same at your age.’

‘Then why didn’t you?’

‘Because it wasn’t appropriate.’

‘You always say that.’

‘Somebody has to set the standards around here.’

Merlin smarted beneath the rebuke. ‘This is not a wild decision taken on impulse, Dad. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Thinking about it and saving up for it. I know it’s the right thing to do.’

‘It’s sheer idiocy!’

‘All right, it’s idiocy. But it’s given me the greatest excitement I’ve had in years. This is what I want. What I need.’

‘To get away from us.’

‘To stand on my own two feet at last.’

‘You could do that in Cardiff,’ argued his father. ‘When we open the new office. You’d call your own tune.’

‘No, Dad. I could never have real independence while I’m working with you. I have to get right away. To America.’

‘Why there?’

‘Why do you think?’

Realisation hit Daniel Richards with the force of a blow. He reeled visibly. When his head cleared, he glanced at the architectural magazines arranged neatly and chronologically on the shelf beside his desk. One American architect featured more often in the magazines than any other.

‘Frank Lloyd Wright.’

‘I think he’s a genius, Dad.’

‘He’s behind all this nonsense, isn’t he?’

‘Indirectly.’

‘I should have spotted the signs when you wrote off for that American magazine. What was it called?’

‘ArchitecturalRecord.’

‘All that fuss over Frank Lloyd Wright.’

‘He’s their leading architect.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Daniel sharply. ‘He doesn’t rate highly in my book, I know that. But you worship him. A man you’ve never met, who designs buildings you’ve never seen.’

‘I’ve seen the drawings. That’s enough.’

‘Enough to make you turn your back on all of us?’

‘There’s a bit more to it than that, Dad.’

‘Oh?’

‘I wrote to him.’

Daniel goggled. ‘You wrote to Frank Lloyd Wright?’

‘Yes, said Merlin. ‘I told him how much I admired his work and asked him for advice about my own career. I also told him that I d always wanted to visit America. To be honest, I never expected to get a reply. He must have hundreds of letters from young architects all over the globe. But he did write back.’ Merlin took an envelope from his inside pocket. ‘He only scribbled a sentence, but it helped me to make up my mind.’ He offered the letter to his father. ‘Do you want to see it?’

‘No!’

‘But it’s in Frank Lloyd Wright’s own hand.’ He took a thin sheet of paper from the envelope. ‘Listen to this. “If you make it to America, come and see me.” That’s what he says. It’s an invitation. I’ll actually get to meet him.’

‘And then what?’

‘I’ll be face to face with the finest architect in America. In the whole world, probably. Just think, mun. I’ll shake hands with Frank Lloyd Wright.’

‘And then what?’ said Daniel sceptically. ‘Where will you live? Where will you work? How will you feed yourself?’

‘I’ll manage somehow.’

‘You could end up in the gutter.’

‘I’m ready to take that chance. Mr Wright has shown an interest in me. That’s all I need to know. I’m off.’ He held out the letter once more. ‘Here. See for yourself, Dad.’

‘No, thanks.’

‘It’s got his signature.’

‘That’s the last thing I want to see.’

Merlin held up the letter. ‘This is my talisman.’

‘Well, it’s no talisman for me,’ said his father bitterly. ‘It’s a death warrant for this practice. So don’t expect me to lead three cheers for Frank Lloyd Wright. I don’t give a damn about American architecture. I’m only concerned with what happens here in Wales.’

‘Mr Wright has Welsh ancestors.’

‘So do you!’ He turned on his heel and strode across the room to stare unseeing through the bay window. Merlin was stung by the harshness of his tone. He could understand his father’s acrimony, but that did not lessen its impact. Putting the letter back into the envelope, he slipped it into his inside pocket. Then he stood a couple of paces behind his father.

The practice was housed in a large Victorian dwelling that stood, grimly solid, at the highest point of the town. Daniel’s office occupied the master bedroom on the second floor. Over his father’s shoulder, Merlin looked out at the drab panorama of the town itself, huddled against a persistent drizzle, the valley below, twisting its way south through the mountains like a long black serpent

It was a view that Daniel Richards loved, but one that his son had come to hate. A beautiful landscape had been scarred beyond redemption. Industry had declared war on nature, attacking it relentlessly with ugly ironworks, blazing steel plants, clanking collieries, and all their associated pollution. A bleak and functional architecture marked each triumph on the battlefield. Instead of blending harmoniously into the environment, buildings were alien and hostile, giant gravestones in the undulating cemetery that was South Wales.

‘This is your world, Dad,’ Merlin said gently. ‘I need to search for one of my own. I’d hoped to go with your blessing, but I can see that that was too much to ask.’

‘What am I to tell your mother?’ said Daniel forlornly. ‘And your sister? You may have no consideration for me and the practice, but didn’t you stop for one minute to think about them?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well?’

‘I’ve already spoken with Mam and with Eirwen.’ His father spun around to glare at him, aghast. ‘They weren’t happy about me leaving – Mam especially – but they came to accept that I had to go.’

‘You spoke to them before me?’

‘Sorry, Dad.’

‘Don’t I count for anything around here?’

‘I felt that they needed to know first.’

‘So that you could get them on your side. Is that it?’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘My own wife and daughter. All part of the conspiracy against me.’

There was no point in further argument. Merlin had nerved himself to announce his decision, and his father had taken it as a personal insult that no amount of apology could excuse or soften. It was time for Merlin to put space between himself and his father. Before he left, however, there was one more blow to deliver.

‘I’m taking the harp with me,’ he said.

‘To America?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘But you can’t,’ said Daniel, scandalised at the notion. ‘That harp is ours, in the Richards family for generations. It belongs here in Merthyr. As an heirloom.’

‘It was left to me.’

‘You don’t need a harp in America.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Why?’

‘Frank Lloyd Wright loves music.’

Merlin gave a sad nod of farewell, then let himself out of the room. Daniel Richards, caught between rage and despair, was furious at what his son was proposing yet powerless to do anything to stop him. At a single sentence from a faraway architect, Merlin had rejected all that his father had worked for.

Daniel was now able to make a more specific diagnosis of his son’s insanity. Resignation. America. The harp. Three separate types of madness. Each had a name. Daniel linked them together and spat them out like venom.

‘Frank Lloyd Wright!’

CHAPTER TWO

The car was picking its way between the tents when a burly figure stepped casually out in front of it. The girl jabbed her foot down hard on the brake, and the vehicle came to a sudden halt in the dust. With a lazy grin, the man flicked the brim of his battered fedora by way of’greeting. There was a teasing note in her rebuke.

‘You might have got yourself killed, Pete Bickley.’

‘Can’t think of a nicer way to go.’

‘Run over by a Chevy?’

‘Mowed down by a beautiful gal.’

‘You’re crazy!’

The grin broadened. ‘When I’m around you, I guess I am.’

‘Out of my way,’ she said with a laugh.

‘Not till you agree to have that drink with me.’

‘Intoxicating liquor is illegal.’

‘Then they oughta throw you in jail,’ he said with a wink. ‘You’re just about the most intoxicating liquor I ever tasted. One look at you, I’m drunk for the rest of the goddamn day. Yessir! You’re a walking violation of the Eighteenth Amendment.’

Rosa Lustig laughed again. She was slim and dark-haired, with features that needed no make-up. She wore denim trousers, a check shirt, and an upturned straw hat. The morning sun gave her complexion a rich glow. Pete Bickley feasted his eyes on her for a few seconds. Tall, rangy, and in his late twenties, he wore the light blue uniform of the site guards. A gun was holstered at his hip. He looked as if he knew how to use it.

‘Where you running off to?’ he asked.

‘Only into Phoenix.’

‘I’ve a mind to hop in that car and come with you.’

‘You’re supposed to be on patrol here.’

‘They won’t miss me for an hour or two,’ he said as he ambled around to her. ‘Wouldn’t you like some company, Rosa?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘I could show you a real good time.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind, Pete.’

‘You do.’

‘It’s a promise.’

‘I’m counting on that.’

He flicked the brim of his hat again and stood back a yard. Rosa gave him a cheerful wave and drove off down the track. Fondling the butt of his gun, Pete watched her until the car vanished around a bend in the distance.

Merlin had walked almost two miles before he saw the car coming towards him. Trudging along the desert road, he was a strange sight in his three-piece suit and flat cap, a portfolio tucked under one arm, a small bag in the other hand. Spiked with cactus and studded with sage, the landscape was inhospitable. Even in winter the sun could pack a punch for someone so fair-skinned, and its glare made him squint.

As the car approached, he scurried a few yards off the road and waited for it to pass. Instead the vehicle slowed to a halt, and a pair of curious eyes appraised him.

‘I may be a lousy driver,’ admitted Rosa, ‘but I don’t usually hit people. Not all that hard, anyway.’

‘Good,’ he said with a cautious smile.

‘Why did you jump out of the way like a jackrabbit?’

‘The other drivers weren’t as considerate as you.’

‘Other drivers?’

‘Lorries, heading the way you’ve just come. They seemed to take a delight in forcing me off the road and covering me with dust. Those men in the back of the lorries thought it was a great joke.’

‘That’ll be the guys driving out to the site.’

‘The Arizona Biltmore?’

‘Yes, just left there myself. Most of the workers stay on site in tents, but the ones who live in Phoenix go to and fro each day. They’re a rough-and-ready bunch.’

‘I noticed ‘

Rosa took a closer look at him. Merlin was not in good shape. He had a two-day growth of beard and the remains of a black eye. His body was slack with fatigue, his suit caked with filth. He was either a well-dressed hobo or a gentleman down on his luck. The portfolio told her which.

‘You’re not from around these parts, are you?’ she said with a warn smile.

‘How did you guess?’ He grinned and walked across to her. ‘Good to meet a friendly face at last. My name is Merlin Richards. I’m Welsh.’

‘I’d worked that bit out. I’m Rosa Lustig.’

‘Hello,’ he said, touching his cap politely.

‘So what are you doing here? Nobody walks along this road unless they’re drunk or lost.’

‘I feel as if I’m both. I was on my way to the site.’

‘Why not take a taxi?’

‘They cost money, Rosa.’

‘Are you that short of cash?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘You must have a pretty strong reason to get out to the site if you’re prepared to walk eight miles across a desert. I mean, you’re not exactly dressed for hiking.’

‘I found that out.’

‘So what’s out at the Biltmore for you?’

‘Frank Lloyd Wright.’

‘Ah!’ She nodded as she began to understand. ‘Of course.’

‘He is there, isn’t he?’ asked Merlin, eagerly.

‘Not at the moment.’

‘But they told me that he would be.’

‘Who did?’

‘The people up in Spring Green.’

She was astonished. ‘You’ve come from Wisconsin?’

‘I’ve come all the way from Wales to see him. I was hoping this would be the last leg of a very long journey. They assured me that he’d be in Arizona.’

‘He is, Merlin. The question is – where?’ She gave a shrug. ‘Mr Wright may be on-site today or tomorrow. Who knows? He’s a law unto himself. My guess is that he may still be in Chandler.’

‘Chandler?’

‘He’s designing another resort hotel over there.’

‘How far away is Chandler?’

‘Over twenty miles south of Phoenix, so don’t even think of walking. It would finish you off good and proper.’ She studied him quizzically. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘Yesterday,’ he said. ‘I think.’

‘Well, I think otherwise. Hop in.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you need some food inside you. Come on. I’ll drive you into Phoenix and buy you some breakfast.’

‘But you don’t even know me,’ he said, overwhelmed by her generosity. ‘I’m a complete stranger.’

‘Not exactly, Merlin. We’re two of a kind.’

‘Are we?’

‘Yes,’ She opened the door on the passenger side so that he could get in beside her. ‘I came down here in search of Mr Wright as well.’

‘Have you found him?’

‘Now and again.’

‘What sort of a man is he?’

‘Elusive.’

The car shot away in a cloud of white dust.

Three cups of coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon put some colour back into Merlin’s face and some animation into his body. Rosa enjoyed watching the transformation.

‘You were hungry.’

‘Starving.’

‘Now that you’ve got your strength back, tell me why.’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Give me the short version.’

‘Right,’ he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and pushing his plate aside. ‘How far did I get?’

‘They finally let you off Ellis Island.’

‘Yes, Rosa. I had no idea it’d be so difficult to get into America. I mean, I’m a professional man. Qualified and that. They treated me like I was some sort of foreign spy.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘And I was one of the lucky ones. No sooner had some of the poor dabs stepped onto the immigrant landing stage than they were hustled back onto their boats to be sent home. I’ve never seen people herded like that.’

‘They let you in, that’s the main thing. Then what?’

‘New York!’

‘It’s some city, isn’t it?’

‘Amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it. All those people, all those big cars. It’s so dynamic, Rosa. Really pulsing with life. Makes even London seem provincial. As for the architecture—’ He rolled his eyes in wonderment. ‘I spent the first couple of days in a dream, just walking around and staring up at the skyscrapers.’ A rueful note intruded. ‘That was how it happened.’

‘What?’

‘I had my wallet stolen.’

‘Oh, no!’

‘Outside the Woolworth Building,’ said Merlin. ‘I must’ve spent an hour just gazing up at it. All sixty stories. Sixty! It’s phenomenal. The tallest structure we ever designed was a warehouse with four floors. It’s like a garden shed compared to the Woolworth Building. Honestly, it was almost worth being robbed to see that.’

‘Who took the wallet?’

‘No idea. Some clever pickpocket, I expect. People were brushing past me all the time. Stupid tourist with his head in the clouds. I was an easy target.’

‘Did you go to the cops?’

‘Of course.’

‘What did they say?’

Merlin grimaced. ‘They suggested that I keep my eyes open in the future. Only they put it a bit more bluntly than that. Anyway, that was my first disaster.’

‘When was the next?’

‘In Chicago. My luggage was pinched from the hotel.’ Rosa listened with interest and sympathy. The more he talked, the more she was drawn to Merlin Richards. He told his tale simply and without any trace of self-pity. America had both entranced and shocked him. While two of its cities had mesmerised the newcomer, two of its citizens had taken his money and his luggage. Rosa was surprised at his resilience. He was even able to laugh at himself.

‘They saw me coming, Rosa,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I was so green, they must’ve thought it was their birthday.’

‘How can you joke about it?’

‘What else can I do?’

‘I’d be livid. You lost everything, Merlin.’

‘Not quite,’ he corrected. ‘I still have the two most valuable things. One is right here,’ he said, indicating his portfolio. ‘Fortunately, no thief is going to be interested in my work as an architect in Merthyr. And the second thing they couldn’t steal was my harp.’

‘Harp?’

‘Too heavy for one person to carry on his own.’

She grinned. ‘You brought a harp to America?’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to leave it at home. Only instrument I can play. Inherited it from my grandmother. Along with the money that paid for my voyage. That harp simply had to travel with me.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘In a pawn shop in Madison, Wisconsin,’ he said. ‘It was the only way I could raise the money for the train fare down here. That’s why I’m travelling so light. There’s hardly anything in my bag.’ Another wry chuckle. ‘Though that didn’t stop someone trying to steal it.’

‘When?’

‘First night of the ride down here. But I learn fast. I was ready for him. We had a rare old fight. I had to take a couple of punches to the face, as you can see, but he came off far worse. Those years playing rugby came in useful.’

‘Playing what?’

‘Rugby. A violent game we have back in Wales. Like a second religion to me. I pretended that my bag was the rugby ball, and nobody – but nobody – was going to take it off me.’

She gave an admiring nod, then glanced at the portfolio. ‘Do you think I could take a look at those drawings?’

Merlin was touched. ‘Please do.’

‘I’m not an architect, mind you,’ she said. ‘I’m only an interior designer, but I can recognise talent when I see it.’

‘I’d value your opinion.’

He handed the portfolio to her and watched carefully as she sifted through his collection. They were in a large cafe near the centre of the city. A waitress came to refill their coffee cups and to clear away his plate, but Merlin did not take his eyes off his companion’s face. He was thrilled when she began to murmur her approval. Rosa Lustig was turning out to be the best thing he had so far encountered in his new country.

‘They’re good,’ she said simply. ‘Real good.’

‘Don’t be afraid to criticise.’

‘As far as the draftsmanship goes, there’s nothing to criticise, Merlin. You’ve got technique. It’s just that some of the buildings are a bit, well—’

‘Humdrum?’

‘Conventional.’

‘They’re the only sorts of commissions we get,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Safe and solid architecture. Stone boxes. No room for flair or imagination. It’s one of the reasons I decided to leave the practice and come to America.’

‘I’m glad that you did.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’

She tied the ribbons on the portfolio and handed it back to him before sipping her coffee. Her eye caught his beard.

‘Do you have a razor in that bag of yours?’ she asked.

‘I do, actually.’

‘Could I suggest that you have a shave before you meet Mr Wright? Turn up like that, and he won’t know whether to look at your portfolio or spare you a dime.’ Merlin laughed. ‘There’s a washroom out back. When you’ve finished your coffee, why not clean up a bit? A clothes brush would do wonders for that suit.’

‘I know. I feel embarrassed to be seen like this.’

‘Ten minutes in the washroom will make a new man of you. Besides, I have to go to the bank and make a couple of other calls. There’s a drugstore on the corner of the street. Why don’t we meet up again in there?’

‘I won’t be long, if you’d rather wait.’

‘Not here, Merlin,’ she said, briskly. ‘To be honest, I’ve had about as much of that guy as I can take.’

He was mystified. ‘What guy?’

‘The one who’s been staring at me since we came in.’

Merlin looked around and soon identified the man in question. Seated at a table in the corner, he was a short, stout individual of middle years in a smart white suit and a red tie, his thinning hair greying at the temples. He had a quiet, watchful authority about him. A lawyer, perhaps, or even a doctor. What made him slightly sinister was the intensity of his gaze. It was fixed immovably on Rosa and seemed to contain both fascination and hostility in equal parts.

Merlin’s protective instincts were aroused at once. ‘Like me to go over there and speak to him?’ he said.

‘No, no. Don’t do that.’

‘But if the man is bothering you—’

‘Forget him. He’s nothing.’

‘Rosa—’

‘I’m leaving now, anyway,’ she said, rising to her feet. A teasing smile surfaced. ‘You haven’t learnt quite as fast as you thought, Merlin.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You never even noticed the guy.’

‘No, that’s true,’ he confessed. ‘I was hypnotised by fine architecture once again. You put even the Woolworth Building in the shade, Rosa.’ She acknowledged the compliment with a grin. ‘But you’re right I should’ve kept one eye open for trouble.’

‘He’s no trouble.’

‘Then why are you running away from him?’

‘I’ll see you in the drugstore.’

‘Do you know the man?’

‘No,’ she said, crisply. ‘But I know his type.’

And she was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

When he first looked in the washroom mirror, Merlin got a profound shock. A dishevelled tramp stared back at him. He was ashamed to be seen in that condition and staggered that Rosa had been so friendly towards such a ravaged and wild-eyed creature.

The train journey had been largely to blame. It had taken him the best part of three days to reach the Union Depot Railroad Station in Phoenix. Trying to shave on board the jolting train had been akin to flirting with suicide as his cutthroat razor did its best to live up to its name. Since his face was tender after the bruising encounter with the nocturnal thief, Merlin had simply eliminated shaving from his daily routine.

But America itself was the main culprit. Open-mouthed with awe, Merlin had wandered around the architectural splendours of New York and Chicago like a child in a colossal toy shop. He thought he had exhausted his sense of wonder. Then came the long journey south, and his red-rimmed eyes widened anew at the changing vistas. Huge lakes, mighty rivers, vast plains, immense forests, towering mountains, and – stretched magnificently over them all – the vivid hues of the sky. Even the cloud formations were objects of veneration to an artist.

Sleep was fitful in a sitting position, and the rattling carriages made few concessions to comfort. Fresh days brought fresh demands on his attention and his energy. He was still trying to absorb the subtle magic of the Sonoran desert when the train finally steamed into its destination. Merlin’s strength had been sapped by his own curiosity. That was why he was looking in the mirror at an escaped convict.

Stripping down to his shirtsleeves, he shaved himself with great care, then washed his face and hands. By the time he had slicked his hair into place with a wet comb, he bore a faint resemblance to the handsome young man who had set out from Wales weeks earlier with such high hopes.

Vigorous use of the clothes brush made dust billow and restored his suit to something like its original colour and texture. A sheet of paper wiped the grime from his shoes. Stuffing his cap into his bag, he took a final glance at himself in the mirror and decided that he was now presentable.

Then he remembered someone. The man in the cafe had been annoying Rosa. In return for her generosity, the least that Merlin could do was to speak to her unwanted spectator and put him firmly in his place.

He came out of the washroom in a combative frame of mind and headed for the table in the corner. But it was now empty. The man was no longer there. Merlin felt cheated.

He went out into the street and crossed it diagonally to reach the drugstore, so unlike the dispensing chemist he knew so well back home. Ewart Morgan’s aromatic establishment in the Merthyr Tydfil high street ran simply to medicines, soap, toothpaste, and shampoo. The drugstore was substantially larger, and the first thing that Merlin saw was a rack of magazines. Toiletries, greeting cards, stationery, soft drinks, confectionery, and many other small items were also on sale. Once again, he felt that he had been living life in miniature back in Wales.

The pharmacy was at the far end of the shop, and a couple of people were waiting for their prescriptions to be made up, but no sign of Rosa. Merlin was shaken. Had she cut and run? Had she sent him to the washroom to cover a hasty departure? Why, after all, should she bother about a stray hitchhiker? Another thought nudged him. Had she been frightened away by the man at the corner table?

Fearing the worst, he swung round to peer out through the window and was relieved to see that her car was still parked in the street. Perhaps she had not finished making her other calls yet. Or had bumped into friends with whom she was now still chatting. Merlin had not been dumped.

The sound of her voice made him spin around again. She had been in the drugstore all the time, hidden behind a shelf on which an array of cosmetics was displayed. The pharmacist handed her a small paper wallet and Rosa paid him. She was about to open the wallet when Merlin bore down on her.

‘There you are!’ he said, beaming.

Rosa was defensive. ‘I’m sorry. Do I know you?’ Then she recognised him and let out a whoop of surprise. ‘Oh no! I don’t believe it! It’s you!’

‘How do I look?’

‘Almost human.’

She ran a frank eye over him, delighted with what she saw. After straightening his tie, Rosa caressed his cheek with the back of her hand.

‘Smooth as silk.’

‘I feel so much better.’

‘It shows, Merlin.’

‘Good.’

Emboldened by her candid admiration, Merlin was able to take a fuller inventory of her charms. Rosa Lustig had a kind of natural, unforced beauty that crept up quietly on a man. The denim trousers and shirt served to accentuate her shapely figure, but it was her sophisticated pertness that really hooked him. He studied her left hand for the first time. She wore no rings.

‘I’m not married,’ she confirmed, reading his mind. ‘Nor even engaged. Not that I’d wear rings even if I were.’

‘Why not?’

‘I sculpt. You need clean hands for that.’ She nodded towards the door. ‘Ready for the road?’

‘Have you got everything you need?’

She grinned. ‘I have now. Let’s go.’

He followed her out into the street, and they headed for the car. Her manner had changed into a kind of affectionate familiarity that put even more spring into his step. When they clambered into the Chevrolet, her questions were both casual and searching.

‘What about you, Merlin?’

‘Me?’

‘Married or engaged?’

‘Neither.’

‘Divorced, maybe?’

‘In a community like the one I lived in? Divorce is not an option. You’re either shackled by the church or fettered by the chapel. However bad it gets, married couples just have to stick it out.’

‘Did that scare you off?’

‘It did. I came close a few times. At least, the girls in question thought I came close. That was the problem. Marriage wasn’t just high on their agenda – it wastheir agenda. Take a girl out, and she started to look in the jeweller’s window. And while she was sizing up the rings, her parents would be touring the furniture shops.’

‘No wonder you picked up your harp and fled.’

‘I’m hoping things’ll be different here.’

‘What’s the verdict so far?’

‘The jury’s still out.’

She switched on the ignition. After a glance over her shoulder, Rosa swung the car around in a graceful arc and set off down the other side of the wide street. Merlin caught a glimpse of a figure standing in the doorway of the hank, watching Rosa with the same cold intensity he had shown at the cafe.

‘It’s that man again,’ he said.

‘Ignore him.’

‘He seems to know you, Rosa.’

‘I hate guys like that.’

‘Are you sure you’ve never met him before?’

‘Oh, I’ve met him,’ she said with studied indifference. ‘In just about every town I’ve ever lived in. And he doesn’t improve on acquaintance.’

It was all she was prepared to say on the subject.

Joe Santana was just coming out of the site office when he saw his visitor approaching. He let out an audible groan. Tom Vernon was amused by his reception.

‘That’s not the way to welcome a friend, Joe,’ he said.

‘I’m busy.’

‘So am I. But I always find time for you.’

‘What do you want this time?’

‘To see that big warm smile of yours.’

Santana scowled. ‘Don’t bullshit me, Tom. You’re here to watch over my shoulder again. To chivvy me along.’

‘Would I do that to you?’

‘Every time.’

Tom Vernon chuckled and used a finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A lanky man in his early thirties with an intelligent face and an easygoing manner, and dressed in casual clothes, Tom was one of the draftsmen who worked with Frank Lloyd Wright.

Even someone as short-tempered as Joe Santana found it difficult to remain irritated by Tom for very long. His visitor was so relaxed and affable that a business meeting with him was always more like a social call.

‘How’s it all going, Joe?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Will you meet the target date?’

‘No chance.’

‘What are the problems?’

‘When you’ve got a week to spare, I’ll tell you.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Worse.’

‘Maybe you should crack the whip over them.’

‘I’ve been doing that from the start.’

‘So why the delays?’

‘You tell me.’

Joe Santana was a compact, well-muscled man of forty with a gleaming bald head above a swarthy face. He had the harassed look of a man under continuous pressure. While his companion was patently at ease with his work, Santana seemed to be suffering from his. He had enjoyed far easier jobs than being site manager on the Arizona Biltmore.

Tom spared a moment to gaze quickly around the site.

‘Is Mr McArthur here?’

‘Which one?’

‘Albert, of course,’ said Tom, pointedly. ‘The architect. His two brothers merely raised the cash for this project. Albert Chase McArthur is the important member of the family. Architects always come before money men.’

‘That’s not the way I see it.’

‘The contractor has to work from plans.’

‘Some poor bastard has to foot the bill for them.’

‘Money spent on a true artist is never wasted.’

‘You sound like Mr Wright.’

Tom grinned. ‘Yeah. I’ve been working on it.’

‘At least your boss is not here to pester the living daylights out of me again. That’s some consolation.’

‘Mr Wright may be along later on, Joe. He sent me on as a sort of advance guard. To get a progress report.’

‘I can give it to you in one word.’

‘Go on.’

‘Slow.’

‘You’ve been behind schedule at every stage.’

‘I blame the architect.’

‘Is that so?’ mocked Vernon.

‘He’s more than doubled the cost of this hotel.’

‘Only the best will suffice, Joe.’

‘The best takes time.’

‘Now you’re starting to sound like Mr Wright.’

Santana gave a grudging smile and fell in beside him. They walked towards the building to scrutinise it properly.

The site comprised over six hundred acres of land with the Arizona Canal running straight through it. Squaw Peak loomed in the background, with the even more impressive Camelback Mountain to the east of it. Two hundred acres had been set aside for the hotel itself, with the remaining tract earmarked for residential development at a future date.

With so much land at his disposal, the architect had been able to spread the Arizona Biltmore out at will. Fronted by the canal, the main building was well over a hundred yards long and rose to a height of four stories. The first floor was occupied by the main lobby, dining room, sun room, bar, and service areas. Guest rooms were directly above.

Two single-storey wings had been added to the south, one at right angles to the main building and the other at a sixty-degree angle. While the former contained shops, the latter wing boasted a polygonal ballroom and lounge. Two further guest wings extended to the east, and fifteen detached cottages were set on the grounds behind the hotel. To provide vertical contrast, a hipped roof over the ballroom was topped by a festive spire, and the lift tower was given bulk and height.

Building was at a fairly advanced stage, but scaffolding was still up, and construction workers were swarming all over the main structure. As materials were being winched up to the roof, fresh supplies were arriving in lorries. The whole building was faced with decorated concrete blocks, and it was over these that Tom Vernon first ran an expert eye.

‘The other blocks would have worked better, Joe.’

‘Too late to change them now.’

‘Mr Wright recommended a sixteen-inch module,’ reminded Vernon, ‘and you can see why. I still think that McArthur was wrong to select the eighteen-by-thirteen blocks.’

‘We just do what the architect tells us.’