The Old Familiar Places
Long before modern big box stores such as Walmart, Home Depot and Target popped up across the American landscape like a field of annoying dandelions, Anson Bonneville opened a small shop in northeastern New Jersey. What began at the turn of the twentieth century as a humble general store selling notions, dry goods and other sundries, grew over the next thirty years into a three-story emporium. Of course, the Great Depression years of the Thirties temporarily put an end to the company's growth and resulted in an inevitable decrease in profits; however, thanks to Anson's skillful management, the store survived.
Like many successful men both then and now, Anson wanted his son and heir to follow in his footsteps and assume control of Bonneville's when he passed away. However, Porter Bonneville, a young man with a degree from Princeton, had plans of his own.
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life selling dresses and shoes to New Jersey housewives!" he exclaimed when his father suggested it was time to learn the family business. "I want to travel and see the world."
"And what do you intend to do to finance your travels?"
"I thought maybe I would become an author. I can write books about all the exotic places I plan to visit and the wondrous things I will see. Or maybe I shall have a newspaper column or cartoon like Robert Ripley."
Although he lacked his son's expensive college education, Anson Bonneville was a shrewd businessman who knew how to handle people. During his lifetime, he had become adept at working with his employees, customers and suppliers alike. Dealing with his only child was no different.
"I'll make a deal with you," he announced. "You work at the store for one year, making an honest attempt to learn the business, and next June, you can take the grand tour of Europe, and I'll pay all your expenses."
At his young age, a year seemed like a lifetime, but Porter had one thing in common with his father: he knew a good deal when he saw it.
Throughout the summer and autumn, Porter Bonneville worked at his father's side, learning the ins and outs of managing a busy store.
"Perhaps when you are in London next summer, you can stop in at Selfridges and Harrods," Anson suggested. "It's always good to see what the competition is doing and keep abreast of the current trends in retail."
Porter frowned. He did not want to waste his time in England visiting department stores.
"I hadn't planned on being in London for that long. Perhaps just a few days and then I'll be off to Paris."
"Ah! Le grands magasins! There are some wonderful stores there, as well: Le Bon Marché, Printemps Haussmann and Galeries Lafayette. I have only read about them, but I envy you being able to see them in person."
"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of spending my time at the Moulin Rouge."
Anson was disappointed that Porter sought the frivolous pastimes offered by cabarets. Unlike his son, he had—even at a young age—burned with the desire to succeed in business rather than indulge in the pursuit of pleasure.
But then, we had vastly different childhoods, the father realized. Porter has been able to enjoy the fruits of my labor, whereas I had to go to work in a factory at the age of eight.
Anson did not begrudge his son his privileged upbringing. Part of the reason he worked as hard as he did was so that he could give his child the advantages he never had: a comfortable home, fine clothes, plenty of food on the table and a good education. He only hoped the boy did not take his many blessings for granted.
* * *
Tessa Bonneville looked at her husband through tearstained eyes.
"They say you should be careful what you wish for because it may come true," she cried.
"There, there, my dear," Anson said, trying to comfort her. "You know you didn't wish for the Japanese to attack Pearl Harbor."
"No, but I prayed Porter wouldn't go off to Europe on the grand tour, and look what happened. President Roosevelt declared war first on Japan and then on Germany, and now our little boy has enlisted in the army!"
"He's hardly a little boy. And tragic though recent events may be, they have nothing to do with your wishes. In fact, I'm more likely to believe it was our son's wishes that were fulfilled. After he's finished with basic training, he'll finally get to see the world."
As a member of the 1st Infantry Division of the U.S. Army, Porter Bonneville saw action in North Africa, took part in the invasion of Sicily and stormed Omaha Beach during the D-Day Invasion. For four long years he remained overseas fighting the Germans. His only contact with his family was through letters and the care packages his parents faithfully sent him.
Stationed in France on V-E Day, Porter and several other American soldiers celebrated the Allied victory in Paris. While walking the streets crowded with joyous Parisians and servicemen, he spied an advertisement for Le Bon Marché and was reminded of his father. A profound feeling of homesickness overcame him. It was as though the lights of Paris dimmed. His desire to return to the bosom of his family intensified when he and his friends entered a café where a pretty, young chanteuse was singing "I'll Be Seeing You."
I want to go home, he thought, longing to resume the life he had led before the war, to see "the old familiar places" the song lyrics spoke of once again.
Given the number of Americans serving abroad, however, it was months before he mustered out and returned to New Jersey. When he finally stepped off the transport ship in New York Harbor, in sight of the Statue of Liberty, his parents were at the pier waiting for him.
"Thank God, you've come home in one piece!" Tessa cried, embracing her child.
"It's good to have you back, Son," Anson said, as he, too, hugged the returning hero.
"It's good to be back, Dad!"
On the drive to their home across the Hudson River, the Bonnevilles filled their son in on the latest news including who died, who got married and who was expecting a baby.
"We're not boring you with all this domestic nonsense, are we?" Tessa asked.
"Not at all, Mom. I've had more than enough excitement to last a lifetime. In fact, I've come to a decision regarding my future. If it's all right with you, Dad, I'd like to work at the store."
Anson felt like a child on Christmas morning who had received not only the bicycle he had asked for but also the entire inventory of FAO Schwarz.
"I could certainly use your help. Ever since the war began, the store has been running with a skeleton staff. Things have been so busy that your mother has had to help out behind the perfume counter."
"Well, the both of you can take things a little easier. I'm home now."
Anson smiled. His son had left New Jersey a boy eager for adventure and returned a man ready to shoulder his responsibilities in the family business.
* * *
One day as Porter walked into Bonneville's, an hour before its doors were to open to the public, he heard a song from his past being played over the store's music system.
"I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places that this heart of mine embraces all day through."
A smile came to his face as he remembered hearing those lyrics on the streets of Paris while celebrating the end of the war in Europe.
In the ten years since he had come home, Porter made many changes in the store and, more importantly, in his life. He married Honey Stovall, the daughter of a prominent New York physician, and fathered two children, a boy and a girl. A third child was on the way.
"Good morning, Mr. Bonneville," Chester Hoag, the elevator operator said as he pressed the button for the seventh floor where the executive offices were located.
"Good morning. I hear there's a rumor going around that we plan on replacing these old elevators with automatic ones."
"That's what I heard, sir," the elderly operator replied, trying to hide the fear he felt that he might soon lose his job.
"Well, let me assure you that it's not true. Manned elevators make the customers happy. Having someone like you greet them and deliver them to the proper floor makes them feel pampered. So you needn't worry that you'll lose your job to modern technology."
"Thank you, sir," the old man said with a smile of gratitude as the doors opened on the seventh floor. "Have a good day, Mr. Bonneville."
"You, too, Chester."
As Porter made his way down the hall to the large corner office next to his father's, he was greeted by other members of his staff. Kit Mullany, his secretary, whose husband was killed in the Pacific, was sitting at her desk outside his office door.
"Good morning, Mr. B. Would you like a cup of coffee?" she inquired, looking up from her Remington typewriter.
"Yes, thank you. And I'd like a cheese Danish, if we have any."
When Kit placed the coffee and pastry in front of her boss, she informed him, "You have a meeting with the mayor at two, and Mr. Tomkins phoned again."
A frown darkened Porter's normally pleasant countenance.
"Can't that man take 'no' for an answer?"
"He's still trying to buy the store, is he?"
"Yes, even though my father and I have made it abundantly clear that Bonneville's is not for sale. Now Tomkins is putting pressure on me to okay a merger of his store and ours."
"I don't suppose it's my place to say anything," Kit began, knowing her employer never faulted her for speaking her mind, "but I hope that never happens. I don't like his store. It seems so cold and unfriendly. It hasn't got the charm that Bonneville's does."
"I couldn't agree with you more!" Porter exclaimed. "You have only to look into their front display windows and see those faceless, wigless, androgynous mannequins to know what kind of place that store is."
"The interior isn't much better! Nothing but glass, chrome and gaudy plastic."
The secretary's phone rang, and Kit hurried back to her desk, leaving her employer to drink his coffee in peace. As he ate his cheese Danish, Porter looked appreciatively around his office. Far from being modern, the furnishings, walls and windows spoke of an earlier, pre-war time, one of elegance and sophistication. The same interior design scheme was repeated throughout the store.
More important than the décor was the human element at Bonneville's. Uniformed doormen greeted customers at every entrance. Floor walkers wearing suits with boutonnières in their lapels assisted shoppers, and each department had an abundance of helpful sales staff to wait on them. For the comfort of its customers, the store provided bathrooms on all seven floors, of which the women's bathrooms offered lounging areas and bathroom attendants. There were no fast-service snack counters at Bonneville's. Instead there was a Victorian tea shop on the fifth floor, a dining room on the ground floor and a Parisian café on the rooftop.
In short, the New Jersey emporium founded by Anson Bonneville at the turn of the century had become, with Porter's skillful management, a first-class department store that could hold its own with any found on Manhattan's famed Fifth Avenue.
* * *
Porter walked into Bonneville's earlier than usual. It had been two months since his father's funeral. Five years earlier, his mother had passed away, and two years before that he lost his wife, Honey.
I'm head of the family now, he thought as he strolled through the dimly lit, nearly empty store, while overhead the security cameras followed his every move. For now, at least, all this belongs to me, but what will happen after I'm gone?
Porter's four children were grown and his parents and wife were gone, but one thing remained constant in his life: Bonneville's. Although the business had greatly prospered over the years, the store still looked and felt much the same as it did when he returned from France after the war.
On his way to the elevators, Porter passed through the women's fashion department. He stopped momentarily to examine a mannequin dressed in Tommy Hilfiger jeans and a belly shirt and reminisce about the time when his female customers wore Adrian, Christian Dior and Pierre Balmain. Back in those days, denim pants were worn by farmers, miners and other manual laborers; now they were a fashion staple.
What will women be wearing in another fifty years? he wondered.
That question brought Porter back to the problem at hand: who would take over the running of the store when he was no longer able to do so? Spencer and Julian, his two sons, had successful careers of their own. Spencer followed in his Grandfather Stovall's footsteps and became a doctor while Julian went to Harvard and studied law. His daughters also had ambitions of their own. Jessie was a journalist writing for The New York Times, and Mercedes, who was pursuing an acting career, currently had a small role in an off-Broadway play. But Bonneville's was a family-owned and run business, and there had to be a Bonneville at the helm.
When Porter neared the elevators, he saw that Denny Roebling was already manning his post. Chester Hoag, who had ferried Porter between the ground and seventh floors for close to twenty years, finally retired in 1965. As so often happened, the poor man's health began deteriorating once he quit working. He had lived in a Florida retirement community for only six months when he suffered a fatal heart attack.
"Good morning, Mr. Bonneville," Denny called. "You're in bright and early."
"Good morning. I'm just going up to the Starbucks kiosk on the second floor. I think I'll take the stairs," he said, patting his midsection. "I could use some exercise."
"Shall I meet you on two and take you up to seven?"
"That's an excellent idea, young man. I'm sure I won't be up to climbing another six flights of stairs."
Denny had been employed by Bonneville's for the past ten years, taking over the job from Chester's replacement, who had also retired. Although he was what people referred to as "mentally challenged," Denny was an asset to the store. He was personable, helpful and could easily comprehend the elevator's button panel.
Porter was slightly winded when he reached the second floor landing.
Maybe I ought to do this every day, he thought. For years now, my doctor has been nagging me about losing a few pounds.
"Good morning," he called to the barista as he approached Starbucks.
"Mr. Bonneville!" the young woman exclaimed with surprise as though President Clinton had just walked off the elevator. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Kit usually gets me my morning coffee, but she's not in yet."
"It is awfully early in the morning," the barista said as she prepared his Venti dark roast coffee.
"I know, but I've got the annual stockholders meeting today, and I wanted to get some work done before heading over to the Sheraton."
Coffee in hand, Porter took his leave of the barista, after depositing a generous tip in the cup, and headed for the elevator where Denny Roebling was waiting for him.
Two hours later the president and chief executive officer of Bonneville's department store walked into the Sheraton's meeting room where a large table had been set up for the company's stockholders. Although the majority of the stock belonged to Porter and his children, there were a number of valued employees over the years who had been granted shares in reward for their services. These people collected dividends and occasionally showed up at shareholders meetings out of curiosity, but they did not have any voting privileges.
When Porter took his seat at the head of the table, he saw that all four of his children were in attendance.
"I'm glad you could all make it," he said before the meeting was called to order. Then he turned to Spencer, the oldest child, and asked, "How was the drive down from Boston?"
"Dory and I drove down yesterday and stayed in the city last night. We had dinner at the Four Seasons and then took in a show."
"And what about you, Julian, did you drive up from Washington this morning?" the father asked his third-born child.
"No, actually I was visiting a friend in the Hamptons."
Since both his daughters lived close to home, Porter saw no need to inquire about their commute. Also, the corporate secretary had stopped shuffling his papers, a clear indication that it was time to begin the meeting.
Once the formalities were over and several issues had been discussed and voted on, Porter brought up the subject that was foremost in his mind.
"With the founder of the store now gone, we must decide on a course of action for the company's future," he announced.
All four of his children averted their eyes, not wanting to look their father in the face.
"Don't worry. I know none of you want to give up your own careers to run the store, and I won't ask you to. I'm still in excellent shape for a man my age, and I have no intentions of leaving the store and heading off to Florida like some migrating bird. No, the obvious solution is that the next generation of Bonnevilles—one of your children—will take over running the store when I'm gone."
"Spencer's the only one with a family," Julian noted. "Neither of the girls is married, and as for me—well, Gigi and I have already decided that we don't want kids."
"Your sisters are still young enough to marry and have children, and you and your wife might change your minds. And, if not, then one of Spencer's sons might want to follow in their grandfather's and great-grandfather's footsteps."
"But what if—God forbid!—you are unable to continue working?" Mercedes, the baby of the family asked. "We can't have a teenager running Bonneville's."
"In the event of my death or incapacity, Marvin Lichfield will serve as acting president until such time as the next member of the family is ready to assume management of the company. Marvin has been with the store since he was hired at sixteen as a stock boy. He worked here summers when he was at college and went to full time after graduation. He's been my senior vice president for the past ten years."
"We've no doubt Lichfield is qualified for the job," Spencer said, speaking for himself and his siblings. "And I'm sure none of us has any objection to his taking over in the unlikely event you have to step down."
Porter smiled as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Regardless of what happened to him or to his children in the future, Bonneville's must go on.
* * *
After the stockholders meeting, the four Bonneville siblings drove into the city and gathered for a late lunch at Windows on the World, the acclaimed restaurant atop the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Wanting to discuss the future of Bonneville's amongst themselves, they did not inform their father of the impromptu, informal meeting.
"As the only one of us with children," Spencer began, "I'll speak first. I have serious concerns about one of my sons taking over the store. Dad doesn't want to face facts, but Bonneville's' days as a major retailer are numbered. Just look at how many department stores have already gone out: Alexander's, Meyer Brothers, Orbach's, Gimbels. Most people don't want to go to those old-fashioned emporiums. They prefer malls, outlets, discount stores like Walmart or online shopping. Amazon is the way of the future, not a white elephant like Bonneville's."
"I suppose we should just humor Dad as long as possible," Jessie suggested. "Let him believe the future of his empire is secure."
"And if he should get sick suddenly, like Grandpa did. Then what?" Mercedes asked.
"Then Marvin Lichfield can run things until Dad dies," Julian replied. "At that time, if there's any interest in it, we can sell the store and split the proceeds."
As Jessie looked out the restaurant's window, she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and loss, neither of which was lightened by the spectacular view of the city. It was the first time anyone had dared voice the possibility of letting Bonneville's pass out of the family's hands. Although she wanted no part in managing the store herself, she hated the idea of someone else running it into the ground.
"So we just sit back and wait for our father to die?" Mercedes, the family's resident drama queen, demanded to know. "Meanwhile the value of our stock continues to go down. You're a doctor, Spencer, how long do you think our father will be around?"
"He's in his seventies now. If he takes care of himself, he could last another ten or twenty years."
"Twenty years!" his younger sister exclaimed with frustration. "Bonneville's will most likely be bankrupt by then."
"How can you talk like that?" Jessie cried. "He's our father, and the store is his life."
"That's easy for you to say. All three of you are doing well enough on your own. Spencer is chief of surgery at Mass General, Julian is on his way to making partner at one of D.C.'s most prestigious law firms and even you, Miss Lois Lane of The New York Times, must be making a nice buck. But what about me? I still get an allowance, for Christ's sake."
"Then give up your dream of becoming an actress and get a real job," her sister suggested.
"As your brother, I can sympathize with your problem," Julian said. "But as a lawyer, I can tell you there's nothing we can do about it. Our father is of sound mind and body, he is the president of the company and he owns the majority of the voting stock. Even if we were to present a united front, we wouldn't have enough votes to force him to sell."
"And even if we did, I would never go against Dad," Jessie declared. "It would kill him."
"Then we wait and see what happens," Spencer announced and signaled the waiter to bring the check.
As the four Bonnevilles rode down the elevator of the North Tower, not one of them had an inkling of how the course of their future was about to change. Their world, like the towering twin columns of the World Trade Center themselves, was destined to come crashing down.
* * *
Despite the lateness of the hour, there was no crowd of shoppers milling about the cosmetics counter or browsing in the lady's lingerie department. The store had already been open for more than an hour; where were all the customers?
As usual, Denny Roebling greeted the owner with a welcoming smile, standing ready to take him up to the seventh floor.
"Good morning, Mr. Bonneville."
"Is it still morning?" the company president asked with a laugh. "I'm afraid I overslept, and now I'm late for work."
"Well, as they say, there's a first time for everything."
"Good morning," Mahalia, his administrative assistant called when he stepped off the elevator. "Would you like coffee?"
"Thanks. I could certainly use it. I just can't seem to wake up this morning."
Educated, dependable and able to work well with others, Mahalia Paley was extremely efficient at her job. As much as he liked the young woman, however, he still missed Kit Mullany who had long since remarried and moved to Pennsylvania. She had been one of the few remaining links to his past. So many people had passed out of his life. There were times when the newer, younger faces he encountered as he made his daily rounds through the store depressed him.
He put his briefcase down and sat on the leather chair behind his mahogany desk. The quarterly sales figures in both tabular and bar graph form were lying at the top of his in-box. Porter didn't need to see the evidence; he already knew the store had suffered another loss.
Feeling the strain of his job, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingertips.
"Headache?" Mahalia asked as she put his coffee down in front of him.
"Just a slight one."
"I've got ibuprofen in my purse, if you'd like one."
"I'll be fine, but thanks just the same."
"Would you like your messages now or after you've had your coffee?"
"I suppose it's better to get them over with."
Mahalia went to her desk and then returned with a small stack of pink While-you-were-out message forms. Porter not only recognized all the names of the callers, but he also knew what each call was in reference to. Blue Cross was calling about yet another increase in employees' health insurance premiums. Zito's Construction Company wanted to provide him with an estimate to repair the roof that had lately sprung a leak over the sporting goods department. He read the name on the next message, crumbled the pink slip of paper into a ball and tossed it into his waste paper bin.
The Wheaton Development Company! They're as bad as Tomkins was back in his day. They can't take "no" for an answer either. Why doesn't anyone understand? I've no desire to sell Bonneville's or to be absorbed by another department store.
There were so many why's that tormented him lately. Why did his grandchildren show no interest in the store? Why did he rarely see his own children? Why were the people he loved slipping further away from him?
Why? Why? Why? he thought with mounting frustration.
The phone rang on Mahalia's desk, and a few moments later she walked into her boss's office.
"That was Marvin's daughter on the line. Mrs. Lichfield's funeral is set for Wednesday at ten. Will you be attending or would you rather ...?"
The assistant noticed the sickly pallor of Porter's complexion and began to worry.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right? You face is so pale."
Another death, and even though he didn't know Marvin's wife all that well, he was saddened by her passing.
"Actually, no. I'm not feeling well at all. I think I'll go home and get some rest. Will you keep an eye on things while I'm gone?"
"Of course, but would you like me to have someone take you home? Maybe you shouldn't drive."
"No, a taxi will be fine," he said, not wanting anyone to fuss over him. "I just have to call Albert Cressman regarding the new elevators that are to be installed, and then I'll leave for the day."
"I hope you feel better soon," Mahalia said and headed toward the Xerox room to make copies of a storewide memo about the funeral arrangements for Mrs. Lichfield.
Fifteen minutes later Bonneville's president stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed, he caught a glimpse of his assistant's desk. For a moment he thought he saw Kit Mullany sitting in front of an old Remington typewriter.
Porter closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
What's come over me? he wondered, fearing the worst: Alzheimer's.
As the elevator descended from the seventh floor, the instrumental rendition of a classic Rodgers and Hammerstein show tune that was playing over the store's Muzak speakers faded away, replaced with a song from Porter's youth.
"I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places that this heart of mine embraces all day through."
"Here we are, Mr. Bonneville, the ground floor."
Porter's eyes flew open at the sound of the voice, and he stared in awe at the operator.
"Chester Hoag!"
"It's good to see you, sir," the old man said.
Porter had little time to ponder the presence of the long-dead operator once the elevator doors opened onto a world long gone. He stared, speechless, at 1940s fashions on display in the women's department. As his gaze moved toward the main entrance, he saw his mother standing behind the perfume counter and his father fussing over a display of umbrellas, and he was forced to choke back tears of joy.
* * *
"Good day, Miss Bonneville," Denny Roebling said in a friendly but reserved tone. "I'd like to offer my condolences on your loss. Your father was a wonderful man."
"Thank you," Mercedes said, avoiding eye contact with the elevator operator.
She did not know his name and had no desire to learn it. Unlike her father who saw his employees as family, the people who worked at Bonneville's meant nothing to her. The elevator came to a stop on the seventh floor, and she said nothing to Denny as she got out and the doors closed behind her.
Mahalia Paley was the second person to greet her and express sympathy at her father's passing.
"Where's the conference room?" Mercedes asked, not bothering to acknowledge the administrative assistant's kind words.
"Second door on the right."
Her brothers and sister were already seated at the table, talking to Marvin Lichfield, Bonneville's acting president, and Cosmo Wheaton, one of the wealthiest land developers on the East Coast.
"Now that Mercedes is here," Spencer announced in a voice that conveyed his annoyance at his sister's lack of punctuality, "we can begin."
"As I was explaining to your family," Cosmo told Mercedes when she took a seat next to Jessie, "I would like to purchase Bonneville's."
"And I'm sure I speak for all of us," replied Julian, who as a lawyer was best suited to handle the negotiations, "we're willing to sell it to you—depending upon your offer."
"Excuse me," Marvin interrupted. "As the acting president of the company, I would like to remind you of your father's wishes and outline the contingency plans he developed."
"And may we remind you," Mercedes said, making an effort to remain civil, "that our father is dead, and the four of us now own Bonneville's."
"Thank you, Mr. Lichfield, but the contingency plans won't be necessary," Spencer replied.
"Clearly, my services will no longer be needed then," Marvin announced, and promptly got up from the table.
As Spencer watched the acting president walk out of the conference room, he thought about what the sale of Bonneville's would mean to him. Although he derived an excellent income from his surgical practice, he and his wife spent a good deal of money on maintaining their lavish lifestyle. He hoped that Wheaton's offer might allow him to either purchase a boat or put a down payment on a small vacation home on Martha's Vineyard.
Likewise, his siblings had plans for their financial windfall. Julian was tired of practicing law and wanted to run for political office. His portion of the inheritance might help finance his campaign. Jessie had recently ended a long-term romantic relationship with her managing editor and wanted to start a new life and new career. Given enough money, she would sell her New York loft and move to England where she would devote her time to writing a novel. As for Mercedes, she discovered that acting was not the glamorous profession it was cracked up to be. Whatever money she would get out of the sale, she would use to travel.
"Back to the matter at hand," Cosmo said once the conference room door closed behind Marvin Lichfield. "Bonneville's is operating in the red and has been for some time now. Believe me when I say you are doing the right thing unloading it now before it goes bankrupt."
Spencer exchanged a look with his brother, both thinking this was a ploy on Wheaton's behalf to drive down the price.
"Why would you want to buy it then?" Mercedes asked. "Do you think you can turn it around and make it profitable again?"
"Good heavens, no! I wouldn't waste my time on Bonneville's. It's a dinosaur. No. I'm interested in the property and in the building. This corner lot is prime real estate. And as for the structure itself, I would petition the state to have it placed on the National Register of Historic Places."
"You want to turn Bonneville's into a museum?" Jessie asked.
"No. I want to renovate the interior, keeping many of the original features, and turn it into a mall with high-end shops, a multiplex movie theater and restaurants. It's the perfect location, and there's plenty of parking."
"And what are you willing to offer us?" Spencer asked.
Cosmo's answer left the respected surgeon speechless. His share of the proceeds would enable him not only to buy the top-of-the-line boat he wanted but also to purchase the Martha's Vineyard house in full and still have money to spare.
* * *
After the papers were signed and Cosmo Wheaton hurried off to a pressing appointment in the city, the four Bonnevilles went to their father's office.
"I know he keeps it here somewhere," Julian said, opening his father's credenza and searching for a bottle of brandy Porter had kept there to offer to important visitors. "Ah! Here it is!"
"And glasses, too," Mercedes observed.
Julian poured the last of the brandy into four glasses, and then he and his siblings toasted their good fortune.
"Why don't we go out and celebrate?" Jessie suggested. "My treat."
"No," Mercedes argued. "This one will be on me. I've been living off my wealthy family long enough. Now, I can afford to play hostess."
Leaving the empty bottle and the dirty glasses on their father's desk, Porter Bonneville's sons and daughters walked out of the president's corner office and headed toward the elevator.
"Down, please," Mercedes told Denny Roebling, treating him to a warm smile.
Moments after the elevator operator pressed the first floor button, the soft rock music of the Carpenters was replaced by a tune that was made popular long before any of them was born.
"I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places that this heart of mine embraces all day through."
"Here we are, the ground floor."
None of them recognized Chester Hoag, but they were all frightened by his sudden appearance.
"What happened to the other ...?"
Mercedes question died on her lips when the elevator door opened.
"Look who's here!" Honey Bonneville, their deceased mother, called to her husband.
Porter, a young man not quite thirty years of age, was delighted by their arrival.
"Dad," he called to his father, Anson, who was standing by the perfume counter, talking to his wife. "Our prayers have been answered. Bonneville's will continue to be run by the Bonneville family, after all!"
* * *
Newspapers, television news programs and Internet news websites across the country carried the tragic story the following morning. All four heirs to the Bonneville family fortune were killed when the elevator they were riding in experienced mechanical failure and fell seven floors to the ground below.
Miraculously, Denny Roebling, the amiable if somewhat mentally deficient elevator operator, survived the crash without a scratch. He would later be hired to work as the head usher in the new Wheaton Mall's multiplex theater.
"I'll Be Seeing You" was written by Irving Kahal and Sammy Fain and was published in 1938.
Whenever Salem is in Paris, he visits his favorite store.
