His biggest competitor was Stefano Polidori, an Italian immigrant, one of the few in Portland, who had started his career by working on a truck farm in southeast Portland. Stefano had sold vegetables from a cart and later a truck, saving every penny and eventually buying several farms as he could afford them. As the city and his business grew, he opened a highly successful open-air vegetable market and later a restaurant. Eventually he had accumulated enough money to build a hotel that rivaled the Hotel Danvers in turn-of-the-century charm.
The Polidori family, too, became rich, and as Stefano added to his fortune and diversified his investments, he stepped on Julius’s toes by outbidding him on prime real estate along the river or by convincing conventioneers that his hotel was better able to serve their needs than the Hotel Danvers.
Stefano and Julius became bitter rivals.
Julius couldn’t believe Stefano could do anything more than sell tomatoes and lettuce from a cart. But Stefano was as shrewd and tough as his fiercest competitor. Like Julius, Stefano used his wealth to purchase rungs on the gold-plated social ladder of Portland.
The rivalry and hatred between the two men and their families deepened as the years passed.
“I’ve heard about Julius as well as your father,” Adria ventured as the limo turned into the parking lot of the riverfront restaurant.
“Stubborn men, both of them.” Anthony sighed loudly. “We all blamed Julius for my father’s death, you know.”
She’d read of the fire, of course. It had been a major news story in 1935. The cause of the blaze had been a grease fire that had started in the kitchen, but some journalists wondered if Stefano’s death had truly been an accident, or if Julius Danvers had somehow masterminded the blaze that had burned the hotel and surrounding buildings to the ground.
Upon his father’s grave, and in full view of the press, Anthony Polidori, the new patriarch of the family, had sworn vengeance against the murdering Danvers family.
“Here we are,” he said, motioning to the restaurant. “A friend of mine owns it.” The door of the limo was opened by the driver and Anthony, barely using his cane, walked down the plank docking leading to the front doors.
As they entered they were greeted loudly by the ma?tre d’. Voices from the kitchen staff and waiters shouted out greetings as well. In this Italian restaurant, Anthony had no enemies.
“So good to see you,” the ma?tre d’ enthused. “Your table’s ready. Please come this way.” They were led up a short flight of stairs to a private, glassed-in room on the second story that offered a 360-degree view of the bridges spanning the murky Willamette River.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Anthony asked.
“Very.” Adria nodded as the ma?tre d’ pulled out a chair for her.
“The Willamette River is the lifeblood of the city.” Anthony gazed through the windows as if he could never get enough of the panorama of the Willamette River and the skyscrapers rising off the western shore.
Without waiting for him to order, a slim waiter brought wine and crusty Italian bread. “The usual?” he asked as he poured three glasses.
“For all of us,” Polidori responded.
“Why did you want to see me?” she asked as the waiter disappeared.
“Haven’t you guessed?” Anthony’s dark eyes twinkled devilishly and he chuckled.
Mario came to the rescue. “It’s because we know you’ve come to Portland for your birthright. That you’re claiming to be London Danvers.”
Adria took a sip of the Chianti. “Why would you care?”
“Try the bread,” Anthony ordered, ignoring her question for the moment. “It’s the best in the city. Probably in all of the Northwest.” He reached for a slice himself.
“Does the Danvers family still bother you?”
She was rewarded with one of his smiles. “I always care what happens to the family of my old rival.” He glanced up at her and dusted the crumbs from his fingers. “It was a shock to me when the little girl was abducted and yet I was considered a suspect.” Shaking his head at the folly of it all, he added, “Despite my protests and alibi, Witt and his henchman, Jack Logan, seemed to think I had something to do with the girl’s disappearance. Even Mario, though he was in Hawaii at the time, was regarded as a suspect. The fact that the second son, Zachary, claimed he was roughed up by some Italians immediately put my family at the top of the list of possible kidnappers. Never mind that the two men whom he claimed to have attacked him had airtight alibis and were seen at several restaurants around the city.” He wagged a finger in the air. “Didn’t matter. A Danvers had made the accusation and in this town that makes a difference—a big difference.” He raised his palms to the ceiling. “So, I would like to clear the Polidori name. And, if you are indeed London, I would like to help you.” He bit into his bread and sighed happily, as if he’d forgotten the conversation, but Adria knew differently. When she didn’t respond, he said, “I doubt the Danvers family is eager for you to be their half-sister.”
She hedged. “There’s been a little resistance.”
Mario snorted a laugh at her understatement. “A little? Come on.”
Waving off his son’s sarcasm, Anthony said, “Of course, I know nothing of your financial situation, but it’s no secret that the Danverses are exceedingly wealthy and influential. If they decide to fight you on this—and believe me, they will fight you like wounded wolves, with everything they’ve got—I’m willing to help you.”
“Help me?” she said, not sure she understood correctly.
“Absolutely.”
Mario leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes squinting thoughtfully in her direction. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Our family has some power in this town, too. In fact, we think our lawyers are the best in the city. If you need legal help, or a loan—”
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea.” It was beginning to sound as if they wanted her in their camp and she suddenly felt anxious.
“Do you want to prove you’re London or not?” Anthony asked and his dark eyes gleamed with a frosty inner light that was as cold as death.
“Of course.”
“Then you should take my offer.”
She wanted to turn him down flat. Though he and Mario were both trying their best to be charming, she felt as if he was attempting to orchestrate the conversation and push her into a position where she’d be in debt to him forever. However, she wasn’t foolish enough to reject his offer outright. Not yet. She’d learned that patience was a virtue, though sometimes hard to attain. The fact of the matter was that she was in no position to turn away help of any kind. Though the Polidoris had axes to grind with the Danvers family, she needed allies in her search—any allies she could get. She had only to think of the dead rat to remind herself. “You’re very generous.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“Not quite. You know, most of the family still thinks you were behind London’s kidnapping.”
Polidori’s smiled faded. He studied the red wine in his glass. “I had nothing to do with the kidnapping. I would never hurt a child. Anyone’s child.”
“What about Robert Danvers?” she asked the old man.
Polidori snorted. “Julius’s oldest son had a boating accident, if I recall.”
“Some people think you arranged it.”
“People like to make something of nothing.”
She plunged onward. “Julius had three children. Only one—Witt—survived.”
With a long sigh, Anthony said, “Julius’s second boy, Peter, was killed in the war.” He frowned. “I had nothing to do with that, either, you know. Though I’m sure the Danvers family would like to think I was in league with Mussolini and Hitler, I didn’t hire the Nazis to shoot Peter’s plane down. Nor did I do anything to the boat that Robert was driving on the river the summer he was killed. The way I heard the story was that he’d been drinking heavily and came too close to the shore of the Columbia. His boat crashed against the rocks. In the accident, his neck was broken. He was killed instantly.”
“An accident that left Witt as the only Danvers heir.”