I feel my mouth fall open. Damien’s never mentioned anything like that. “Unlawful, ma’am?”
“He’s a criminal.”
“Criminal! Oh, no, Mrs. Evans. Damien would never.”
She pauses, taking pains to make herself clear. “I’m not saying Mr. Walsh is a criminal, Rosie. If he was, he would no longer work here at the Dominion. I’m saying people have said that in addition to his job here, he also works for a disreputable man. You know how I feel about gossip, but this bit of information seems well-founded and important that you know.”
I think she has more to say, and I rather wish she would say it so I could better understand, but she lets it go.
“It’s not up to me who you see outside of work, but I’d like you to keep this part of his character in mind as you go. I was married for ten years to a wonderful man who fell in with this same man’s business without meaning to. He, well, he met a terrible end because of that.”
I’m shocked. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Evans.”
“It’s old news, but I’m telling you so that you will understand the possible consequences. If Mr. Walsh does not, I hope that at least you will.”
That’s all I can think of for the rest of the day. Her words of warning, which fill me with concern, and the sweetness of Damien’s kiss on my cheek.
BRIDGET KELLY2024
chapterSEVEN
The Library Bar, tucked away in the corner of the Dominion Hotel, is my favourite bar-slash-restaurant in the entire city. Not just because they serve incredible food, and not even because of the exotic cocktails and the fact that there’s no martini they can’t make to exact specifications. It’s the Art Deco, Gatsby feel of this place, and the way those cocktails clinking in crystal become almost part of the decor. The speakeasy ambience is both romantic and business, catering to tastes, and everyone in the place looks like they can afford to be here. The women’s hair, makeup, and style are perfection, their smart gazes sharp. The men wear rich, dark suits that make every one of them appear more handsome than they might actually be. Every short beard is trimmed just right, every tie perfectly chosen and knotted.
I am dressed well tonight, too, because I’m celebrating. I’m supposed to be here with my boss, Claudia Vale, but, as usual, she is late.
Fifth Business, Birdbath Martinis, Red Snow, the Man in Black, Fifty Year Storm, Voodoo Child, Poseidon… I pore through a menu of drinks and catch most of the literary references. Right now, I’m sipping on a Twist of Fate and have a vague idea of what’s in it: gin, wine, raspberry, proseccorosé. Not bad for twenty-four dollars, I suppose. I’ve been here for half an hour, and the glass is almost empty, but I tell myself I shouldn’t start a second drink before Claudia gets here.
I catch a flash of burgundy hair at the entrance, but it’s not her. I drink the last of my Twist of Fate and catch a waiter’s attention.Another?It’s poured and placed between my fingers in a matter of seconds.
I love the feel of this place, just like I love the hotel itself. The Dominion was built in the late 1920s. Sitting here, I can almost feel the mood of a hundred years ago, when musicians and singers stood just over there, performing for the sparkling socialites. I admire the marble tables and countertops, the bold-hued leather furniture, the large oil painting of George Locke hanging over the dark fireplace, and the sixteenth-century Renaissance reproductions. I wonder how much has changed in here since those days.
“There she is!” Claudia’s exuberance sings through the bar as she glides toward me. “My darling girl. What are we drinking? Oh, well, that’s not enough.” She waves a manicured hand, heavy with diamond rings and platinum bands, and a waiter appears like magic. “Champagne, dear sir. Taittinger, I think. Pre-Covid if you have it. Seems like a good choice for toasting. Oh, and oysters.”
The waiter hurries off, and Claudia’s observation passes over the room. She smiles briefly at someone, and her Pat McGrath lipstick gleams in the table-lamp light. I watch her flick her fingers in a friendly wave to a client across the room. I’m certain she knows everyone here, unless some are hotel guests who happened to wander in and discover this hidden gem.
“Marshall,” she says offhandedly. She’s filling in names for me since I’m facing away. “He’s thinking the Gerrard and Elm area for his next one. Oh, and there’s Zack. What a pain.” She beams his way.
The champagne arrives and is expertly poured, the bubbles dancing in a celebratory mist over the glasses, and Claudia finally focuses on me. Even after all this time, I feel the usual rush of anxiety at her appraising glance. No one would argue: Claudia is a force to be reckoned with.
She lifts her glass. “Good work, Bridge. You really nailed this one. I’m proud of you.”
I am, too. I was up against two tough competitors, and despite their lowball offers, I walked away with the contract. The oysters land on our table. We shoot them back, feeling smug, then clink our glasses. I always wonder about that tradition. What’s the point of clinking glasses? Does anyone know?
We have a few business rivals, but generally, and mostly due to Claudia’s influence, Vale’s is the go-to firm for construction inspections here in Toronto. With so many condos shooting up these days, stealing parking lots, parks, and general airspace, we are a busy bunch. Developers want their buildings up now, so they pay a lot for our quick and efficient services. The basics for inspection are fire safety, smoke alarms, ventilation, plumbing, and electrical issues, but Vale’s is known for more substantial issues as well, such as structural problems during and post-construction.
I know what you’re thinking. And no, being a building inspector was not a career I would have picked, either. Not one I would have even considered, to be honest, but it is one that has shaped me. If I hadn’t been so practical, I’d be an unemployed history major, but bills take priority. I have always been fascinated by historical architecture, but it’s not like I could make a living admiring buildings. Toronto is not a cheap place to live, and I had to be sensible.
Generally, inspecting is a male-dominated category, so even after I learned my trade, there were hurdles. The day I met Claudia, almost exactly five years ago, I’d just been laughed out of an interview. She was outside the contractor’s office, and she saw me exit. She hadn’t been the least bit hesitant about asking a crushed and frustrated stranger what was wrong. I didn’t mention any names, didn’t off-load any of my complaints, but I did admit that I was finding it difficult to break into the boys’ club. That lit a spark in her, I recall. She asked me if I’d ever heard of Vale’s. Fortunately, I had. Pleased, she interviewed me right then and there. Fastest, easiest interview ever.
“Frankly,” I remember her saying after she handed me her card and asked me to call, “I can’t understand why more women aren’t hired for this job. Men miss things, we find them. We all know that.”
And so I began working with Claudia. Yes, she can be brusque, and yes, she can dominate a conversation, but those are qualities a woman needs when faced by men keen on taking control. She is generally a good boss, and I’ve learned a lot from her. We get along, and I will never forget that she was the one who unlocked the door for me.
She also pays me well. I’m no longer broke. Sure, there are days when my job can be dry and dull, but there are also times when I get to admire the craftsmanship of an old structure. I go out of my way to walk past the Royal Ontario Museum and other masterpieces when I can, aching a little for the history in their walls, and I visit from time to time to get a fix.
My fascination with historical design is part of why I love this bar so much. And this hotel. Claudia knows this. We are here because winning this job today was a big moment for me. She chose this place because she wants me happy. But also, I know, because she wants something.
“I have wonderful news,” she begins, leaning in, and I know I’m right. “Did you know there are renos happening right here in the hotel?”
