The interview with George Kessler-the so-called “Champagne King”-would vary from the previous two in a significant way: Kessler had requested I meet him in that exclusively male haunt, the ‘First-Class Smoking Room.’ Miss Vance took the opportunity to return to the side of Madame DePage, who was in the ‘Reading-and-Writing room’ with her new friend, Dr. Houghton-someone we were interested in knowing more about, anyway.
The smoking room was aft on the Boat Deck, a large* chamber dominated by an enormous ornate wrought-iron skylight with leaded glass and inset panels. Walnut paneling framed furniture of the Queen Anne period-sofas, easy chairs, settees, writing desks and marble-topped tables-and the red carpeting and upholstery, in concert with the natural wood tones, created a rich masculine warmth at odds with the white and gold of so much of the rest of the ship.
The air was a smorgasbord of cigar smoke, making a cigarette man like myself feel something of a piker-and a pauper. This was, after all, the bastion of rail barons, shipping magnates, international publishers and millionaire businessmen.
George Kessler didn’t know me, but I recognized him-his bushy black beard was hard to miss. He was seated in one of two angled easy chairs facing an elaborate, unlighted fireplace, with a brown valise tucked under (and held in place by) his legs. A cigar smaller than a pool cue in the fingers of his left hand, the Canadian wine magnate was wearing a three-piece dark gray suit with lighter gray pinstripes, and reading an issue of The Philistine, the digest-sized magazine published (and largely written) by Elbert Hubbard.
I approached, introduced myself, he did not get up, we shook hands and I took the other easy chair.
“Are you a subscriber to that magazine?” I asked him.
“Hell no,” Kessler said, with gruff good humor. “That eccentric ninny is passing these out all over the ship. . though I must say he gives Kaiser Bill the devil in this article.”
“You’re no fan of the Germans?”
“I am not. Some men make money off wars, but for me it’s a goddamned nuisance-restricts my travel, plays hell with my ability to entertain my friends and business associates.”
“That’s partly why I wanted to interview you, sir,” I said, getting Mr. McClure’s work out of the way. “These famous ‘bashes’ of yours. . ”
For perhaps ten minutes the outgoing businessman regaled me with tales of the extravagant dinners and parties-how he had once hired London’s best carpenters, scenery painters and electricians to turn the Savoy Hotel’s courtyard into a corner of Venice. . including flooding it and serving dinner in a giant white gondola. At another event a mammoth cake was conveyed to guests on the back of a circus elephant, while Caruso sang. At yet another do (the Savoy again), he turned the garden into a faux North Pole, complete with silver-tissue icebergs and fields of plastic snow.
I had written all of this down, on the questionable assumption that any of the News’s readers would care, when Kessler paused to relight his cigar, which had gone out during his blatherings. As he did, he must have taken a closer look at me, because he blurted that he’d seen me earlier.
“Is that right?” I said.
“Yes! You were giving Anderson a bit of a bad time, on deck, and God bless you for it-I saw that pitiful excuse for a lifeboat drill! Ye gods, what a joke.”
“It’s less than reassuring, all right.”
He shook his head and the thicket of black beard bounced. “These are wartime conditions-bunch of damned ostriches, heads in the sand. You know, I complained directly to Captain Turner.”
“You did?”
“I did-the daft old bastard. I went right to his day cabin and bearded the lion in his den-said, ‘I think it would be an excellent idea if each passenger was given a ticket listing the number of the lifeboat he’s to make for.’ ”
“How did Turner take it?”
“He just looked at me-like a shaved walrus. I said, ‘You know, Captain-just in case anything untoward happens.’ Finally he told me Cunard had already considered this idea-it had come up after the Titanic disaster! But it was rejected as too impractical.”
“I would imagine this response disappointed you.”
“It did, and I told the old boy so! And he just replied that he did not have the authority to act on my advice-even if he wanted to! Bugger him, I say.”
How I wished this could go into my News articles. .
“Do you know how Turner spends his time?” Kessler asked.
“Frankly, no.”
“Tying fancy nautical knots, to impress his officers! Challenges ’em to top him. They think he’s a fool, too. . There are women and children on this ship, goddamnit! Have you seen how many tykes are aboard?”
I, of course, had; but somehow I felt Kessler’s prime concern was self-preservation.
“I have the feeling,” I said, “that steamer travel does not suit your temperament.”
“You’re correct, sir-no voyage is too short for me. I get restless-even with that sea air and walks on deck, I have a cooped-up feeling. But it has its positive side-I’ve had numerous good business ideas; sometimes I feel my mind is whirling with new ways to make more money.”
“And to spend it?” I said, with a smile. “Maybe turn the Savoy into the Taj Mahal?”
“Hell of an idea,” he said. But his impatience even extended to me, and this interview. “Well, is that it? Did I give you what you needed? You got the spelling right?”
I told him the interview was over, and that I did indeed have the correct spelling of his name; but that I would like a few more minutes with him. He cooperated, and I explained about Miss Vance-whom he remembered from seeing her on deck with me (“Fine-looking woman!”)-and our fears that a thievery ring might be aboard.
At mention of that, his face turned white. “It’s a good thing I carry a gun,” he said.
“Why is that, sir?”
He leaned closer. “I can speak only in strictest confidence. I would want this repeated only to the Pinkerton agent-so that she might help in a preventative manner.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I nodded.
He stroked the nest of beard. “You might consider me as eccentric as that Hubbard character, in my own way.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“Well. . I am of the belief that a man should not leave his possessions out of his sight.” He tapped the brown valise over which his legs rested. “I have some transactions in mind, in London, that may demand fast financing.”
So the valise must have contained a sizable quantity of cash-much as Frohman’s briefcase bulged with fifty thousand dollars.
“I have two million in stocks and securities,” Kessler said. “Having it so close by. . well, it’s much safer this way, don’t you think?”
And he thought Captain Turner was a fool. .
ELEVEN
Late that afternoon I again joined forces with Miss Vance. We met in the Reading-and-Writing Room (which was smaller* than the gentlemen’s smoking lounge), a mostly female preserve offering rose-color carpeting that harmonized soothingly with walls panelled in cream-and-gray silk brocade, with finely carved pilasters and moldings. The etched-glass windows boasted embroidered valances and curtains of silk tabouret, and the inlaid mahogany furnishings included settees, easy chairs and writing chairs upholstered in the same rich silk, with a vast mahogany-and-glass book-crammed bookcase that consumed an entire wall. In what better setting could one hope to jot off a note on impressive Lusitania stationery?
I had just completed my interview with George Kessler, while Miss Vance-here in the reading room-had sat chatting with Madame DePage and her friend Dr. Houghton.