Luke’s for another six days and Abel visited them every morning, leaving his hotel only when the last breakfast had been served, and every afternoon after the last lunch guest had left the dining room. Abel had read somewhere that a child was not expected to do that for at least three weeks. Unlike the others her little fingers were curled into a tight fist. The doctor pointed to the father’s first-born. Through an observation window Abel was confronted with a row of wrinkled faces. He then followed the obstetrician into a little room at the other end of the corridor.
‘Thank you,’ repeated Abel, quietly, trying not to show his disappointment. ‘You have a beautiful girl,’ the doctor said as he reached him. He turned and retraced his steps once again, to see Doctor Dodek heading towards him. Occasionally he twisted the silver band that encircled his wrist and stared at the name so neatly engraved on it. Luke’s Hospital waiting for the first cry, his slight limp becoming more pronounced as each hour passed. Abel had paced up and down the colourless corridor of St.
By the time the boy was ready to take over, Abel was confident that his own name would stand alongside those of Ritz and Statler and by then the Baron would be the largest hotel group in the world. Abel had wanted a son, an heir who would one day be chairman of the Baron Group. I T HAD NOT BEEN an easy birth, but then for Abel and Zaphia Rosnovski nothing had ever been easy, and in their own ways they had both become philosophical about that.
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