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Anthony smiled and tapped his son on the knee with his cane. “She was surprised.” He patted her arm as the limousine pulled away from the curb. “You’ve not heard of the feud between the Danvers family and my own?” His voice was skeptical.
“A little,” she hedged, not wanting to give anything away.
“I bet.” For a few seconds he seemed lost in thought and only the soft sound of classical music filled the plush interior of the car. “Mario, where are your manners? Ask Ms. Nash if she cares for a drink.”
“Later, maybe,” she said, but Mario ignored her and poured a glass of wine from a bottle chilling in an ice bucket.
“Please, be our guest,” Mario insisted. Probably in his late thirties or early forties, Mario wore his good looks like an expensive suit. He seemed to pose as he sat across from her. As he handed her the stemmed glass of chilled wine, his fingers brushed hers for just a fraction of an instant but his gaze touched hers briefly before he removed his hand.
Staring out the tinted windows, Anthony clucked his tongue. “It’s sad, this feud,” he admitted, “but it can’t be helped. It goes back for generations, you see. Starting with Julius Danvers and my father.”
That much Adria understood. Maria, who had worked for the Danvers family for years, had told her of Stefano Polidori and how he became the rival of the Danvers family.
The original patriarch of the Danvers family, Julius Danvers, made his money and the beginning of the family fortune in the late 1800s. An immigrant logger who had the foresight to acquire all the timber-rich land he could beg, borrow, buy, or, in some cases, steal, he not only founded a company to harvest the raw timber that was abundant in the state, but also built a chain of sawmills that eventually stretched from northern California to the Canadian border north of Seattle.
It had been rumored, but never proven, that Julius was a mean son of a bitch who was willing to kill any man who tried to thwart him in his quest for unrivaled power in the timber-rich Pacific Northwest. His guilt in several “logging accidents,” which took the lives of some of the men not particularly loyal to him, was always assumed, but never proved.
Already a wealthy man by the turn of the century, Julius diversified into shipping and hotels, spreading the family fortune into new industries. He opened the elegant Hotel Danvers in downtown Portland in time for the Lewis and Clark Exposition of 1905. The hotel, rumored to be the most lavish in Portland, became home to the elite who traveled to the city on the Willamette River.
Though Julius never finished the ninth grade, he was also instrumental in establishing Reed College, the first college in Portland, where his children attended school and earned diplomas as well as social standing.
Julius was famous for his hard, cruel streak, and it was generally thought that he’d won favors from politicians, judges, and policemen, thereby having more than his share of important men hidden deep within his gold-filled pockets. Julius was careful to align with the powers-that-be in the city and state in order to assure that nothing would ever stand in the way of his ambitions or threaten his family.
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, yo
u 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 maître 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 maître 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 maître 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.
