I’ll Take New York
Miranda Dickinson
The author of the Sunday Times bestselling Take a Look at Me Now, returns to New York with her most heart-warming, romantic story yet.Have you ever given up on love?When her boyfriend lets her down for the last time, Brooklyn bookshop owner Bea James makes a decision – no more. No more men, no more heartbreak, and no more pain.Psychiatrist Jake Steinmann is making a new start too, leaving his broken marriage behind in San Francisco. From now on there'll just be one love in his life: New York.At a party where they seem to be the only two singletons, Bea and Jake meet, and decide there’s just one thing for it. They will make a pact: no more relationships.But the city has other plans . . .
PRAISE FOR MIRANDA DICKINSON AND I’LL TAKE NEW YORK: (#ulink_b601e251-a930-57d9-a51a-785ba49d7470)
‘I’ll Take New York is like meeting up with your very best friend, full of charm, warmth, wit and wonder, you’ll never want to say goodbye.’
Rowan Coleman
‘Miranda works her magic again … a sparkling, romantic, feelgood gem of a story with massive heart.’
Julie Cohen
‘Miranda Dickinson has given us yet another wonderful warm-hearted and wise novel with characters you can’t help but fall in love with. I’ll Take New Yorkis the perfect treat to snuggle up with on a cold winter’s evening.’
Ali Harris
‘Warm, feel-good and utterly enchanting, I’ll Take New York will magically transport you into a world you won’t want to leave.’
Cally Taylor
‘The characters are irresistible, the settings magical – I was transported to the New York of my dreams, for the tiniest fraction of the air fare. The perfect treat for readers who already know and love Miranda’s novels – and those who have yet to discover her fantastic story-telling.’
Kate Harrison (bestselling author of The Secret Shopper series)
‘The perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter’s eve.’
Closer
MIRANDA DICKINSON
I’ll Take New York
Copyright (#uead3715c-2e48-5b21-b724-6f45356b53d6)
AVON
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Copyright © Miranda Dickinson 2014
Cover illustration © Eum Hayoung 2014
Miranda Dickinson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847562340
Ebook Edition © December 2014 ISBN: 9780007574360
Version: 2014-11-27
Dedication (#uead3715c-2e48-5b21-b724-6f45356b53d6)
For my lovely friend Ebs. This isn’t quite the top of the Empire State, but it’ll have to do – Zupini Girls forever! xx
‘New York is where you prove if what you think in theory makes sense in life.’
Miuccia Prada (1949–)
Contents
Cover (#u103675b1-d5d6-5357-b843-4268002156af)
Praise for Miranda Dickinson (#ue2979a19-729b-5482-8c0f-1367d795087c)
Title Page (#u9aa4b986-47a1-5b1f-aad7-d81b5621a8ae)
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph (#uc337bcdf-12b9-5820-ac32-8c7aae2591a5)
Chapter One: Stromoli’s restaurant, 11th Street, Brooklyn
Chapter Two: Departures Hall, San Francisco International Airport, California
Chapter Three: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Four: Jake’s apartment, 826B Jefferson Street, Williamsburg
Chapter Five: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Six: Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side
Chapter Seven: Celia and Stewart’s apartment, 91st Street Upper West Side
Chapter Eight: Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
Chapter Nine: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Ten: Chez Henri, Upper West Side
Chapter Eleven: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Twelve: Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
Chapter Thirteen: Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
Chapter Fourteen: Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
Chapter Fifteen: Private loft apartment, Upper West Side
Chapter Sixteen: Vacant office suite, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway
Chapter Seventeen: Beads & Beans craft and coffee store, Brooklyn
Chapter Eighteen: Jake’s new office, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway
Chapter Nineteen: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Twenty: Jake’s practice, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway
Chapter Twenty-One: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Twenty-Two: Jake’s practice, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway
Chapter Twenty-Three: Bea’s apartment, Boerum Hill, Brooklyn
Chapter Twenty-Four: Jake’s apartment, 826B Jefferson Street, Williamsburg
Chapter Twenty-Five: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Twenty-Six: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Monty’s Italian restaurant, Columbus Avenue, Upper West Side
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Beads & Beans craft and coffee store, Brooklyn
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Jake’s practice, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway
Chapter Thirty: Corner of 42nd Street and Park Avenue
Chapter Thirty-One: Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side
Chapter Thirty-Two: Cheese-A-Go-Go!, SoHo
Chapter Thirty-Three: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Comedy Cavern, 7th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Thirty-Five: Jake’s practice, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway
Chapter Thirty-Six: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Javacious coffee shop, East 43rd Street
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Celia and Stewart’s apartment, 91st Street, Upper West Side
Chapter Thirty-Nine: W New York Hotel lobby, Lexington Avenue
Chapter Forty: Imelda’s apartment, 7th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Forty-One: Empire State Building, 5th Avenue
Chapter Forty-Two: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Forty-Three: Harry’s Bar, Midtown Manhattan
Chapter Forty-Four: Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn
Chapter Forty-Five: The Steinmann family home, Hampton Bays, Long Island
Chapter Forty-Six: The Steinmann family home, Hampton Bays, Long Island
Chapter Forty-Seven: The Steinmann family home, Hampton Bays, Long Island
Chapter Forty-Eight: Apartment 18D, 142 Allen Street, Lower East Side
Chapter Forty-Nine: Jake’s practice, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway,
Chapter Fifty: Christmas in New York
Chapter Fifty-One: Sheehan, Sheehan and Owen offices, East 43rd Street
Chapter Fifty-Two: Bea’s apartment, Boerum Hill, Brooklyn
Chapter Fifty-Three: Sheehan, Sheehan and Owen offices, East 43rd Street
Chapter Fifty-Four: Central Park, Manhattan
Chapter Fifty-Five: A yellow New York taxi, travelling west, Manhattan
Chapter Fifty-Six: Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side
Chapter Fifty-Eight: Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE (#uead3715c-2e48-5b21-b724-6f45356b53d6)
Stromoli’s restaurant, 11th Street, Brooklyn (#uead3715c-2e48-5b21-b724-6f45356b53d6)
‘Bea?’
Five more minutes …
‘Bea, honey, why don’t we just order? I don’t think he’s …’
‘He’s definitely not …’
‘Shh! Can’t you see she’s upset?’
‘What? I’m just saying …’
He’ll be here. I know he will …
‘I think he stood her up.’
‘Could you say that any louder? Only I don’t think the waiter in the restaurant across the street heard you …’
‘Maybe we should wait a little longer?’
‘The fact is, he hasn’t just stood Bea up: he’s stood us all up …’
Bea James closed her eyes and willed her gathered family members to stop voicing the thoughts in her own head. Of course, they were right. They had waited nearly two hours already and now even the laid-back waiter in Stromoli’s restaurant was snatching not-so-subtle glances at his watch.
Bea’s father wasn’t likely to be silenced by her mother’s attempts. Even though he respectfully lowered his voice, Bea was still aware of every word. ‘If we don’t order soon, the kitchen will close and we’ll end up at Pete’s twenty-four hour diner. And you know what happened the last time I chanced a Reuben there …’
Her Uncle Gino and paternal grandfather Gramps mumbled in support.
‘He said he would be here,’ Bea’s mother hissed back. ‘He specifically asked us all to be here. We rescheduled our holiday to be here. Now why would he ask us to come if he had no intention of turning up?’ She reached across the table towards Bea. ‘Darling, have you checked your phone recently? Maybe he’s been unavoidably delayed?’
‘Or maybe he’s the schmuck we all thought he was,’ Aunt Ruby snorted. Never one to shy away from speaking her mind, Ruby had been uncharacteristically quiet this evening – until now. Bea knew this was the first comment of what would quickly become a flood.
‘That’s enough, Ruby! Think of poor Bea …’
Staring defiantly at the white linen tablecloth to avoid the concern of her family, Bea heard a chair scrape back on the other side of the table. Moments later, the vacant chair beside her – the one he should be sitting in right now – was occupied by the familiar hulk of her brother.
‘He isn’t coming, is he?’ she whispered, lifting her head towards him.
Stewart’s expression said it all. ‘Maybe we should just order? If Otis comes I’m sure the kitchen will accommodate him.’
‘I can’t believe he’s done this.’ Bea was close to tears. ‘I’ve left ten messages on his mobile but he isn’t responding. How dare he let me down like this?’
‘Personally, I’d kick any guy to the kerb who makes me wait two hours for dinner.’ Ruby’s voice soared above the hum of evening diners in the neighbourhood Italian restaurant and Bea heard the stifled giggles from several of her family members. That was it: Otis had lost his last chance to prove himself.
‘Let’s order,’ Bea blurted out, causing everyone to stare at her. ‘Otis clearly isn’t planning to join us. So please, let’s just eat.’
As her family descended on the menus, much to the relief of the waiter, Bea stood. Stewart caught her arm but she smiled at him as best she could and dismissed his concern.
‘I’m OK. I just need some air.’
Standing outside on the darkened sidewalk of 11th Street, Bea stared up at the heavy raindrops falling from the plastic awning across Stromoli’s entrance, finally allowing her tears to fall. All she had wanted for this evening was for her boyfriend to keep his word. This had been his idea, not hers, and his efforts to gather her family from both sides of the Atlantic had suggested that there was an important reason why he wanted the collected James family present. He’d said he had something to say to all of them and something he wanted to ask Bea. How could it have been anything other than what everyone had suspected?
She had invested so much in this relationship, often feeling as if she were the only person in it. She had forgiven Otis when his promises fell through, plans backfired or willingness to commit waned. They’d had their problems, but then didn’t every couple? She thought of the gathered members around the long table at Stromoli’s, who by now were no doubt ordering everything on the menu. All of them were happily married – even Aunt Ruby, whose courageous husband Uncle Lou had signed up for just shy of forty years of wedded bliss before his heart gave up the battle last year. Sure, they argued, the women of the James family were famous for their feistiness, but history would record generations of long, successful partnerships. Bea had hoped that Otis calling everyone together this evening was a precursor to her name being added to that list. And her family had made no attempt to hide their expectation of his intentions, which – in the light of his absence – made everything a million times worse.
Grasping her mobile, Bea called Otis for the last time that night.
‘Otis, this is it. I don’t know what you’re playing at and, to be honest, I don’t care. I’m done. Don’t call me again.’
Ending the call, Bea closed her eyes.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_bcaecfab-3ff5-5c2b-adeb-cff8ce246676)
Departures Hall, San Francisco International Airport, California (#ulink_bcaecfab-3ff5-5c2b-adeb-cff8ce246676)
‘Are you sure you have everything?’
‘I’m sure. All my worldly possessions that didn’t leave for New York in the movers’ van this morning are in my backpack.’ Jake Steinmann forced a smile as the woman beside him dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘Hey Pam, it’s OK.’
Pam Lomas – Jake’s faithful PA for the past seven years – shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry. It’s not OK. It’s not OK that your wife’s given up on you like this. It’s not OK that you have to abandon your whole life because of her latest whim. Can’t you reconsider? You have so much in San Francisco: why leave it all now?’
Part of Jake agreed with her. It was unfair – but then, everything that had happened in the past month had felt that way. He shouldn’t be the one to leave: as far as he had been concerned their marriage was a happy one. But realistically what choice did he have? Sure, he could stay in his adopted city and wait for Jessica to change her mind. He could carry on, pretending that life was untouched by his wife’s decision to leave him. But he knew, deep down, that to stay in a city in which every street, sidewalk and brick seemed imprinted with her name would be the end of him. Better to nurse a broken heart on the other side of the country.
‘New York’s not so bad.’
‘It’s the East Coast, Jake! Where you’re just a number in a big city and nobody cares who you are unless you do something for them.’
‘I was born there, remember? I may have the West Coast attitude and a better tan now but I’m a New York guy at heart.’ He put his hand on Pam’s shoulder as she let out a loud sob. ‘Don’t worry about me, OK? I’m going to be fine. My family are in the city, my friends from before I met Jess … I won’t be alone.’
Pam gazed up at him, mascara streaking down her cheeks. ‘Well, I guess I have no choice but to trust you on that. But you’d better call me, every week. I want to know everything. You promise?’
He had promised, his heart heavier than he had anticipated. Once on the JFK-bound flight, Jake closed his eyes and willed the chasm of loss to close within him. Of course, Pam was right: he wasn’t the one to end his own marriage, so why should he be the one to leave?
The trouble was, Jessica didn’t seem to see the injustice of the situation. Yesterday they had met for the last time, in a small neighbourhood coffee shop near her office, for Jake to hand over the keys to their Russian Hill house. He had hoped the finality of the act might coax a little understanding from her, might somehow break through the steel-strong walls she had erected around her heart. But even as they made polite small talk about Jake’s plans for his New York relocation, it was clear all Jessica cared about was getting on with her life. Her life – which consisted of nothing changing other than her gaining more closet space in her bedroom and considering the possibility that she might let out the spare room to help pay the bills. Her comfortable job in interior design, the expensive social life she pursued, her Cabriolet and her weekend yacht would all remain. ‘It’s easier this way,’ she had said, as if she were discussing a subject she cared nothing about.
Easier for you, Jess. Not for me …
He hated the lightness of her attitude, the way she smiled after every flippant comment, regardless of the pain each one inflicted. He should be glad she wanted to leave him. He should be celebrating …
And yet, even as he had watched her stride away along Mission Street and out of his life forever, his heart still ached for her. He told himself this was inevitable: after all, only six weeks beforehand he’d thought he had the happiest marriage in the world. I’m still in shock, he decided. It hasn’t sunk in yet …
But now, as the lights of San Francisco Bay fell away from view through the aircraft windows, it suddenly felt very real. He was leaving the life he had so carefully built over seven years behind him, with no guarantee he could successfully rebuild it on the other side of America.
I won’t be alone, he had assured Pam as they stood by the departure gate. But now, twenty thousand feet and rising above the Californian coast, Jake Steinmann felt more alone than he ever had before.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_33fa1164-1dcd-5f9c-8110-e943b61b2037)
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn (#ulink_33fa1164-1dcd-5f9c-8110-e943b61b2037)
Bea looked up at the oversized clock above the counter. Five more minutes and then she was leaving.
She had known it was Otis calling last night even before the answer machine clicked into action, but she had no intention of picking up. His voice sounded pathetic and insincere as it entered her apartment where she was hiding after the debacle at Stromoli’s:
‘Bea – it’s me. I am so sorry. Give me a chance to explain, please? I know I screwed up. You have every right to walk away. But don’t do it until I’ve had a chance to explain. Give me an hour tomorrow and I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I can come to the bookstore. We’ll talk. And you’ll see why I couldn’t be there tonight. I’ll call your family and explain, too. I feel awful, Bea, you have to believe me … Hell, please pick up the phone? I know you’re there …’
Changed into her faded PJs and huddled up in her favourite chair – the dress she’d expected to be proposed to in screwed into a ball beside her bed – Bea had stared at the answer machine. ‘Go away,’ she told the grey box with its blinking red light.
‘Just meet with me tomorrow? I won’t stop calling until you say yes …’
‘Leave me alone!’
‘I’m not kidding, Bea. If I have to sit outside your apartment night and day I’ll do it …’
Tired and bruised from the mortifying family dinner, Bea couldn’t bear the thought of Otis turning up in the early hours. As sleep was unlikely anyway, contending with a belligerent boyfriend would definitely ensure she was good for nothing in the morning. Admitting defeat with grudging disappointment, she had answered the phone.
‘Fine. I’ll meet with you tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Bea – it’s so good to hear your voice …’
Oh no, Otis, your wounded puppy routine won’t work this time … ‘I’ll be leaving at five p.m. Be there before then or we have no deal.’
She should have said no last night. But Bea wanted answers – and she wanted to see his face when she challenged him. Now, facing another Otis Greene no-show, she knew it: she had clearly been wrong to trust him. He had let her down. Again.
‘Maybe you should wait a few more minutes?’
Bea turned to her business partner and best friend. His eyes were earnest behind the wide-rimmed hipster glasses he wore. ‘Maybe he should have been here twenty minutes ago. I’ve waited long enough, I think.’
Russ wrinkled his nose. ‘Ten more minutes.’
‘Five.’
‘OK, five. But he’ll be here, Bea. I know he will. Just be patient, Bea …’ He sniggered at his own joke, his laughter fading when he saw Bea’s expression. ‘Sorry.’
After three years of running a business together, you would think that Russ O’Docherty would have grown tired of his ‘be-slash-Bea’ jokes. But unfortunately her business partner (and unofficial partner-in-crime since she’d arrived in New York to study at Columbia University) was writing comedy scripts and performing stand-up in his spare time, with Bea (and her increasingly complicated life) a seemingly constant inspiration for his material.
Bea took a deep breath, the comforting scent of paper, print ink and furniture polish filling her lungs. For her it was the most delicious smell in the world: the tantalising aroma of a bookshop. For as long as she could remember, Bea had dreamed of one day owning her own bookstore. She had loved books all her life. Real books, not electronic ones. Books you could carry in your bag and read on the subway. Books you could pretend to read in neighbourhood coffee shops while people-watching. Books you could snuggle up with and lose yourself in. Books you could fill your apartment with – packed onto shelves, propping up tables and piled up reassuringly by the side of your bed. If she left home without a book, Bea felt naked, bereft. But then, working in a bookshop meant there were always new friends to make and take home.
Friends who never let her down. Friends she could trust.
Her heart contracted again and she wished hard that she didn’t care whether Otis turned up or not. But she loved him: she had loved him for five years and even though she was angrier with him today than she had ever been before, she knew the moment he swept into the bookstore his handsome face would tempt her to forgive him. Again. He knew how to get under her skin and it was this ability alone that had saved their relationship many times before. Bea couldn’t deny their chemistry – and when he arrived today she would have to fight hard to resist it again. If he ever turned up, that was.
‘I just – I’m sick of this, Russ.’
Russ slung his arm around her shoulder. ‘I know. What you need is a distraction from staring at that clock. I’ve been thinking about maybe introducing a coffee corner by the window – what d’ya think? I mean, what could be a better combination, hmm? Books and coffee: like mac and cheese, Cagney and Lacey, New York and angst. Come on, admit it, that made you smile …’
Bea shook her head. Russ knew her better than anyone and even his lame jokes had the power to break through her dark mood. ‘I like the idea. If you think we can afford it?’
‘I’ve looked over the accounts and I think it’s possible, yes.’
Hudson River Books had been a dream Bea had shared with Russ from their earliest conversations at university. It became their favourite daydream in long English Lit classes, discussions about what it would look like and debates over which authors they would stock going on late into the night; continuing in study periods and lunch breaks spread out on the lawns surrounding the campus buildings. Much of what customers saw today in the little redbrick shop on 8th Avenue had been planned years before on diner napkins, on the back of lecture notes and in countless notebooks covered in their dreams over the years. Russ often said he thought the atmosphere that many of their customers remarked upon was because it had been their passion during the early years of their friendship.
Bea felt her heart sinking as she consulted the clock again. Despite her anger, she had so wanted Otis to come through this time. Just once, to stay true to his word. For her. Accepting the inevitable, she picked up her bag and coat. ‘That’s long enough. I’ll see you later, OK?’
Russ dropped the stack of new books he was cataloguing and hurried around the maple wood counter to block her escape. ‘Wait. Just a few more minutes? I know there’s a good reason Otis is late.’
‘I can think of a great reason: he isn’t coming.’
‘Bea …’
Irritated, she held up her hand to silence him. ‘Stop defending him! All Otis ever does is make big promises he can’t deliver. He’s let me down too many times and I’ve had enough.’
‘Enough of what?’ A rush of street noise hurried into the bookstore as Otis Greene strolled in. He checked his watch. ‘OK, so I’m a little late.’
‘Twenty-five minutes late,’ Bea returned, fully intending to push past the tall, elegantly dressed man and leave.
‘Bea, let me explain. You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had getting here. Roads are jammed, buses can’t get through. Finally I caught a cab but it got stuck so I had to run the remaining five blocks to get here.’
For someone who had endured such a troublesome journey, Otis didn’t seem very concerned – or out of breath. Russ smiled a little too enthusiastically between Bea and Otis, rubbing his hands together. ‘Good, good. So, I’ll get coffee and you two can – talk.’ Still grinning, he hurried out of the bookstore, flicking the OPEN sign to CLOSED on his way out.
‘Otis, I—’
‘You’re beautiful, Bea. Come here …’
He moved towards her but Bea shrank back. Otis’ smile was all the evidence she needed to approach the conversation with caution. She didn’t trust him – not like she used to, at any rate – and was determined not to let him win this time. Even if her heart was tugging at the sight of him in his smart business suit, dark eyes brooding as they held hers …
Stop it, Bea James! He has a lot of explaining to do.
‘Baby …’
‘Cut the crap, Otis. Where were you last night?’
‘I had to view a new artist’s collection. The gallery wants to take him on before the Manhattan dealers try to steal him. This guy’s the real deal: I couldn’t lose him.’ He reached out to touch her arm, but she avoided his hand. She was angry and he needed to know it.
‘And you couldn’t have called me?’
‘I was in the middle of negotiations. I – uh – lost track of the time …’
‘Do you know how long my family waited at the restaurant to meet you? Two hours. I’d worked so hard to get them all there after what happened last time. Mum and Dad had even rearranged their holiday to come – their dream American holiday they’ve been planning for years. They don’t get the chance to visit me in the US very often but they came because you asked them. Do you have any idea how mortified I was when you didn’t show up?’
Something Otis deemed to be remorse flickered momentarily across his face. ‘Bea, I’m trying to apologise here.’
‘Well, try harder. I don’t believe you, Otis! You said you were serious this time. You promised you would be there.’
‘I know I did and I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry, Bea. I’m sorry I missed last night and I’m sorry I was late today. But I’m here now: what more do I have to do?’
A lot more,Otis, Bea thought, a whole lot more …
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_fd375942-765d-513d-b56a-d755b1d77d81)
Jake’s apartment, 826B Jefferson Street, Williamsburg (#ulink_fd375942-765d-513d-b56a-d755b1d77d81)
Dear Mr Steinmann,
My client, Mrs Jessica Steinmann, wishes me to inform you of her decision to file for divorce, on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. I require a response from you or your counsel within 28 days’ receipt of this letter. Provided you have no objection to this action being progressed, please sign the enclosed agreement in order for divorce settlement proceedings to begin …
Irreconcilable differences.
In other words, his wanting to remain married to the woman he loved versus her desire to be rid of him as soon as possible. Provided you have no objection – or, to put it more precisely – regardless of your objections.
Jake had half-expected Jessica to see her lawyer within a month of his relocation to New York, but a day after? Even for his headstrong ex, that was fast. He wondered if she had met someone else already, the thought twisting his stomach before he quickly dismissed it. Whether she had or not, there was no point in torturing himself. The lawyer’s letter was enough to hurt him.
He groaned and threw the brown envelope across the polished cherry wood floor of his new apartment. Divorce papers were the last thing he needed today.
His phone buzzed and, turning away from the offending envelope, he walked to the window as he answered the call.
‘Jake Steinmann …’
A familiar voice yelled back. ‘Jake-a-a-a-yyy! How’s it hanging, dude?’
He rubbed his eyes and looked out at the dreary March day. Williamsburg might be an up-and-coming neighbourhood, but today it appeared more down-and-out. ‘Hey, bro.’
‘You sound like death,’ his brother observed.
‘And you still haven’t learned tact, Edward. Tell Rosie she has more work to do on you.’
Ed’s chuckle made Jake smile, despite his mood. But then his big brother had always possessed an annoying ability to do that. ‘Rosie loves me for who I am. That’s why she’s planning to keep me around for a while.’
‘Good for her. How are the wedding plans?’ The mention of the ‘w’ word in the light of today’s unwelcome mail made Jake wince as he said it.
‘Fancy a beer?’
‘That good, huh?’
Ed lowered his voice. ‘I’m going out of my mind here, J-Man. I’m not kidding: if Dad tries to force any more random relatives onto our list, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Did you even know we had a Great Aunt Eunice?’
‘No, I didn’t. Are you sure Dad isn’t smuggling in his crazy golfing buddies under assumed names?’
‘It’s possible. That man will be the death of me.’
Jake smiled at his brother’s frustration. ‘Hey, look at it this way – at least Dad’s getting into the spirit of the Steinmann–Duncan nuptials. It wasn’t so long ago he was convinced you were gay …’
Ed’s groan was identical to Jake’s earlier utterance. There was one thing to be said for the Steinmann brothers of New York: they knew how to groan. But then groaning was a Steinmann clan survival tool – and with a family like theirs, every verbal protest was precious.
Jake knew what his brother had suffered from their father’s ignorance. Ed’s decision to shun the Steinmann family tradition of psychiatry in order to train as a florist hadn’t been well received by their father. In fact, it was true to say that had Ed Steinmann announced he was growing his hair, becoming a Liberal and moving to a hippy commune in Goa his father would have taken the news better. For years Joe Steinmann had mocked his middle son’s chosen profession, in public and in private: at the annual Steinmann Christmas gathering, at birthdays and anniversaries, graduations and summer holidays in the family’s lake house in upstate New York. No matter how many women Ed dated (and there were many), no matter how successful his career, all Joe Steinmann saw was his middle son defying his true calling. Never mind that the prospect of Ed Steinmann as a psychiatrist, counselling the great and good of New York, had a high probability of ending in abject disaster. Never mind that Ed’s idea of compassion was a night of beers and a good baseball game. For years, Joe could only see the betrayal he perceived in Ed’s actions and not the man his son was becoming.
Rosie Duncan had changed all that. Even though Jake had long before moved his practice to San Francisco to be with Jessica, he had seen the change in his brother beginning when Ed had confided that his feelings for ‘a specific someone’ had started to grow. Of course, Jake had known immediately who it was: on his trips back to New York, the way Ed’s face lit up whenever he mentioned Rosie’s name had given more away than he’d intended. Working together in the Upper West Side florists’ store Rosie had inherited from an old Polish man (who by all accounts was legendary), every story Ed relayed to his brother seemed to include the confident English woman.
The details of how they’d finally got together were sketchy in Jake’s mind as he considered it now – although this was probably due to the empty, Jessica-shaped ache that currently robbed his head of pretty much everything else. However it had happened, Jake knew that he had never seen Ed so at peace, so completely in love and so permanently happy before. In turn, Rosie had charmed Joe from their first meeting and it was almost as if through her eyes he was able to see his middle son for the first time. Jake respected Rosie for that almost as much as he did for the change she had wrought in his brother. He had a lot to thank his soon-to-be sister-in-law for.
‘Threaten to set your fiancée on Dad,’ Jake suggested. ‘If anyone can rein him in, it’s Rosie.’
‘Ha. I’ll mention it to her, maybe. But I’m serious about that drink, Jakey. I haven’t seen you since you came back and I miss my little bro. Besides, I need to get out of Kowalski’s for a while. What with the wedding plans and Marnie’s swollen ankles this place is threatening to become Oestrogen Central. Ow!’
‘What happened?’
‘Rosie hit me … What? I’m on the phone, baby … Really? J-Man, my beautiful wife-to-be wants to speak to you … Passing her across now …’
‘Hi Jake.’ The soothing tone of Rosie’s English accent seemed to reach down the phone line to hug him and instantly Jake began to relax. ‘Welcome home.’
‘Hey, sis-in-law-to-be. Just how crazy is my brother making you?’
Rosie’s groan was a good one: she would fit right in to the Steinmann family. ‘Between you and me, on a scale of one to ten he’s almost reached eleven. Please take him out for a bit? I need to try to smooth things over with your dad and Ed isn’t helping.’
‘Well, all right. But only because it’s you.’
‘Thank you, you’re a star! Listen, how are you? How’s the new home?’
‘Still new. And quiet. And the removal guys seem to have mislaid my coffee machine somewhere between San Fran and here.’
‘Hang in there, you’ll find it.’ There was a definite pause. ‘Have you heard any more from Jess?’
Jake stiffened his spine against the sinking feeling his almost-ex-wife’s name caused nowadays. ‘I heard from her today, actually. That is, I heard from her lawyer.’
‘Oh Jake, no! I’m so sorry. I know it’s clichéd but if you need to talk ’
He laughed. ‘I’m good. I think maybe me taking Ed out of your hair for a couple hours might be good for both of us.’
‘You’re right, it would. But please call me if I can help at all.’
‘Thanks, Rosie. I’ll remember that. Put him back on, OK?’
There was a muffled remark as the phone was passed back to his brother and Jake could picture Ed and Rosie giggling together, surrounded by flowers in their Upper West Side neighbourhood florist store.
‘I think I should be worried about the outrageous way my fiancée flirts with you,’ Ed said. ‘What? It’s blatant, Rosie Duncan!’ Jake could hear the amusement in Rosie’s voice as she made a comment in the background, then Ed laughed. ‘She just said if you’d been free when she was single she might have picked a different Steinmann. Cute. So are we going out to play, bro?’
Jake cast a glance around the bleakness of his new apartment: at the depressing cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked and the bland décor he hadn’t chosen. It didn’t feel like home at all and right now he didn’t think it ever would. He needed to be out of here, before the too-quiet rooms and endless self-analysis in his mind sent him crazy. ‘Yes, we are.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_a1d51d55-93e3-547e-b631-d0c1a6ed1302)
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn (#ulink_a1d51d55-93e3-547e-b631-d0c1a6ed1302)
‘Babe, all I want is to make it up to you.’
They had been battling for almost an hour and Bea could feel her resolve beginning to wane. Through it all Otis had stared directly at her in that startling, confident way of his – a weapon that was devastatingly disarming when used to its full effect. He had reached for her hand and managed to hold it for a few seconds before her anger resurged and she pulled it away. Now he was sitting a small distance from her, wearing an expression that begged her to move closer. She rubbed her eyes and wished she had been able to make it out of the door before he had arrived.
‘I’m just so tired of fighting,’ she said, her thoughts becoming words before she could stop them.
‘And so am I. We’ve been here before, Bea, and we’ve always made it back.’
‘Maybe this time is different.’
Why was her love life so complicated? Why, when everyone around her seemed capable of finding halfway decent partners, did she struggle? Bea didn’t consider herself a demanding girlfriend; neither did she experience problems meeting men. But somewhere between the initial spark and the middle of a relationship the problems began – growing and tangling and balling up until she found herself with an unsatisfactory, untrustworthy partner in a situation more akin to a battle of wills than a productive partnership.
‘I don’t see why. Sure, I screwed up: I admit it! But we can move on from this, Bea. I want to make amends.’
‘Amends? How, exactly? Are you going to go and personally apologise to every member of my family who waited for you in the restaurant last night?’
He couldn’t hide his wince from her. ‘If necessary.’
‘My parents set off on their trip this morning. You might catch them somewhere in upstate New York if you’re quick.’
‘Baby …’ He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair and gave her his best ‘pleading puppy’ look. Ordinarily, this would have worked, Bea relenting at the sight of his contrition.
Not today, Otis, she told herself sternly. Today I need answers for everything.
‘And my brother was baying for your blood. Which, considering Stewart is officially the most laid-back person in the city, was no mean feat.’
Her older brother Stewart – who had never been particularly fond of Bea’s boyfriend – reckoned his sister was attracted to the wrong kind of men. This, of course, was easy for him to surmise, especially given how loved-up he was with his older partner, Celia. Since the pair of them had met at the New York Times where he was a staff writer, writing as Stewart Mitchell (their mother’s maiden name) and Celia was a star columnist, they had been virtually inseparable, settling into the easy rhythm of a deeply contented pairing in which they still remained. Just like every other couple in the James family.
Staring at her grovelling partner, Bea felt a well of unease rising within her. She loved him, but how much did he really feel for her? He’d said it himself: they had been here many times before. Surely after five years something should have changed? She wanted him to step up, to make good all of his overblown promises that never managed to come to fruition. Was she kidding herself that it was possible? The more she looked at Otis Greene, the louder the white noise in her head grew.
This is ridiculous. It’s never going to change. I deserve more than this.
Otis edged closer, his earnest dark eyes searching her face for an invitation. ‘Baby … What can I do to make this good with us?’
She was tired. Too tired to ride the merry-go-round any more. ‘I don’t know. I think I need some time to think.’
‘So take some time. Call me when you want to continue this discussion.’ It was defensive but Bea suspected Otis was relieved to be excused from any further apologising he might have been called upon to do tonight.
‘No, that’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what, Bea? What are you saying?’
What am I saying? Bea considered this, her heart thumping. She didn’t want to be in this argument again. Ever. Slowly, it began to dawn on her.
‘I’m saying …’ she began, picking her words as if tiptoeing across a minefield ‘… I think we’re done. We keep returning to the same problems and I – I just can’t go over it any more. I need to be me again, Otis. Not some paranoid half of a relationship that isn’t going anywhere. I think this is it for us. I’m sorry.’
Otis blinked. This wasn’t how it worked: he made apologetic noises; Bea gave in; serenity was restored. Bea’s response seemed to throw a spanner in the works. Dropping his gaze, he stepped back. ‘If that’s what you want.’
Surprised by the strength of her own conviction, Bea stood tall. ‘It is.’
The silence in the bookshop was louder than the angry lines of traffic on 8th Avenue outside. Bea retreated behind the counter. Otis stared up at the high ceiling as if expecting to find answers to this new situation written there. Outside, the heavy raindrops battered against the bookstore windows and the world beyond them.
‘Then I should go?’ It was more of a question than a statement of intent.
‘We both should.’
Otis began to reply but the crash of the bookstore door snatched his attention. Dripping wet, Russ O’Docherty clutched a fast disintegrating cardboard cup-holder as he struggled to close the door without losing three teetering coffee cups in the process.
‘Sorry I took so long. It’s like Armageddon out there …’ He stopped when he saw their expressions. ‘Oh boy, are you guys not done?’
‘Actually, I was just leaving,’ Otis replied, the lightness of his tone knocking the wind from Bea’s stomach. He helped himself to a coffee cup and turned back to Bea. ‘Call me when you’re ready. Remember I love you.’
Russ watched his friend leave and held out his hands in surprise. ‘What happened?’
Bea slumped in the grandfather armchair beside the counter. ‘I think we broke up.’
Shocked, Russ hurried over and hovered hesitantly by her side. ‘Really? Only he said, “I love you.” Usually guys don’t choose that line when they’re breaking up with someone.’
‘I think I might have broken up with him.’ Tears welled in Bea’s eyes as the frustration of the past week overwhelmed her. ‘The thing is, I don’t think I can do this again, Russ. I’m the laughing stock of my family: the only James to fail at relationships. And I really don’t want this to be all I end up thinking about.’ She looked up at her friend, who took the hint and knelt by her, taking her hand. ‘My business is doing great, the rest of my life is pretty good. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who is ruled by her love life, you know?’
‘You’re not,’ Russ assured her.
‘I feel like I am.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re not and that’s all there is to it. I’ve watched you work so hard to make this place a success, and I know how many people love you, Bea. Most of New York would kill for that kind of résumé. And I don’t think you’re a failure. So here’s one person who isn’t laughing at you.’
Bea shook her head, a small smile breaking free. ‘Thanks.’
‘Otis made a mistake. A big one, I’ll admit. But deep down he does love you: I’m sure of it. I think maybe you should focus on what makes you happy for a while. Maybe when you do that, you’ll be ready to try again.’
Russ’ unquestioning loyalty to his friend would have been touching in any other setting, but today it wasn’t helpful. Irritated, Bea stood and moved away.
‘What if I don’t want to try again? Hmm?’
‘I’m just saying you might …’
‘What is it with you and Otis?’ Bea demanded, knowing this wouldn’t help the situation but compelled to challenge her best friend’s stance. ‘Why must you always defend him?’
Russ rose to his feet and faced her. ‘He’s my friend, Bea. Of course I’ll defend him. But it shouldn’t make a difference whatever I say. You have to decide if you want to be with Otis or not.’
‘Can’t you see what he’s done to me? Don’t you think he was wrong?’
‘Of course I do …’
‘Then why not support me? Does our friendship mean so little to you?’
‘This isn’t about us, Bea, so don’t make out like I don’t support you.’ Russ sighed and took off his black-rimmed glasses to wipe the rain-splattered lenses on the bottom of his vintage rock T-shirt. ‘I’ve supported you for as long as we’ve known each other. You know I have. Sure, I think Otis was out of line when he let you down in front of your family. And yes, I agree, this isn’t the first time you’ve been disappointed. I told him he’s a Class A jerk for not putting you first, actually – not that you’ll believe me. I warned him he’d lose you if he didn’t straighten up his act. But above that, I can’t do a thing to change who he is or any of the decisions he makes.’
Bea stared at him, hating Russ for his logical view of life. It had always been his secret weapon. The worst of it was, it made sense. He wasn’t to blame for Otis’ bad decisions and he was perfectly entitled to be friends with whomever he wanted.
‘It would just be nice to have you on my side,’ she replied, her voice small and vulnerable as she spoke.
‘I don’t take sides, Bea. But I’m not a heartless individual either. You know I care about you and I want you to be happy. Heaven knows you deserve it. Take some time out. Figure out what it is you want and whether Otis can provide it or not. In the meantime, I’m your friend and I’m here for you. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Good.’ He popped his glasses back on. ‘And the rain must’ve made me psychic because I bought you a peppermint mocha.’ He held out a cup, a wry smile returning. ‘Did I make the right choice?’
There was no point arguing any more. And the coffee smelled good. Still convinced she and Otis were over, Bea nodded at Russ. ‘You did good.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_f21634e6-2f86-56ab-afb9-142a14d49b5f)
Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side (#ulink_f21634e6-2f86-56ab-afb9-142a14d49b5f)
The small silver bell chimed out over his head as Jake walked into his soon-to-be sister-in-law’s florist shop in the pleasantly chic neighbourhood in the Upper West Side. A rush of floral fragrance assaulted his senses from the rainbow-hued display in galvanised steel buckets. Jake loved it here – and completely understood why his brother had chosen to give his skills to the neighbourhood florists’ instead of the high-tech, faceless floral boutiques in New York City. There was a peace about the little store that few other shops in Manhattan had, a sense of timelessness that made even the busiest customer linger.
A pretty, heavily pregnant young woman with shocking pink streaks in her hair screamed from behind the counter and hurried towards him.
‘Jake! Oh, it’s so good to see you, honey!’ Hugging him with her large belly was a challenge but she made an enthusiastic attempt at it.
He laughed, despite being almost knocked off his feet by Rosie’s kooky assistant. ‘Great to see you, Marnie. And look at you! How long till D-Day?’
She pulled a face. ‘Six weeks. I’m kinda hoping it’ll be earlier but my obstetrician told me it might be a week over.’ She rubbed her back. ‘I feel like I’m carrying a moose, not a couple of babies. I blame Zac’s quarterback genes. But anyway, how are you?’
Jake ignored the sinking feeling when he saw Marnie’s smile morph into concern. It was barely a month since his separation from Jessica had become public knowledge and already he dreaded receiving the identical expression from everyone he met. He knew their concern was well meant, but it still made him wince. It was as if somehow the fact his wife had chosen to live her life without him was cause for the whole world to pity him, as if he was less of a man.
‘I’m good,’ he replied, his voice already bearing the singsong notes of someone who really, really didn’t want to discuss it any more. ‘I’m here to rescue your boss from the whining Steinmann charm of my brother.’
Marnie grinned. ‘Good call. Any longer and there might not have been a wedding at all.’ Throwing her head back, she yelled, ‘Ed!Jake’s here!’
‘Thank goodness for that!’ a familiar voice replied and moments later the welcome smile of Rosie Duncan lit up the store as she walked in from the workroom. With her dark eyes, dark brown hair and pale English rose complexion, Rosie was striking to look at, even though her demeanour revealed how little she realised it.
‘Hey sis-in-law-to-be,’ Jake grinned, dispensing with the tradition of respectable cheek kisses and scooping her into a huge embrace instead. ‘Boy, am I glad to see you.’
‘Tough day?’ she asked, the smile not leaving her face, for which Jake was unspeakably grateful.
‘As much as ever,’ he replied, happy that, with Rosie at least, this was sufficient to draw a line under the subject.
‘And now it’s going to get tougher having to spend time with the love of my life,’ she laughed. ‘Are you sure you can handle my fiancé?’
‘Leave him with me. There’s nothing Ed can throw at me I haven’t seen before. I used to be his wing-man back in his dating days – and believe me, once you’ve pulled your brother from a New York bar brawl pretty much anything else is mundane.’
‘You are a godsend, Jake Steinmann,’ Rosie laughed, squeezing his hand. ‘He’s been driving us insane all day.’
‘I thought I knew how grouchy he could be after all these years working with him, but he’s reached new depths of pessimism,’ Marnie agreed.
‘Sounds like my brother. Is he ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Ed replied, striding into the store and planting a kiss on Rosie’s head. ‘Thanks so much for the glowing summation of my current state of mind there, girls.’
‘We’re only saying what we see,’ Rosie smiled up at him – and Jake felt his heart tug as he saw the way she looked at his brother. Had Jessica ever looked at him that way? He thought she had, yet the pain of recent events clouded his memories. But Ed deserved to be happy, he reminded himself. One happy Steinmann had to be a good thing for the world …
‘Hmm. Well, I’ll let you off this time, Ms Duncan.’
‘Excellent. You do that. And don’t depress your brother.’ She jabbed a finger into Ed’s chest, before turning to Jake. ‘If he gets too much, just shove him in a cab and send him back, OK?’
Jake chuckled. ‘Deal.’
The bar Ed had chosen was one Jake vaguely remembered visiting before – probably to watch a baseball game with his brother before Jessica had swept into his life and taken him to the other side of America. It felt odd to be thinking of things he had done pre-Jess, especially as all of his recent thoughts had been consumed with memories of their marriage. But it was a positive change, he decided. And something positive in his life was way overdue.
They settled at a booth and ordered beer. Even though it was early, Jake was glad of the cold buzz the bottle gave him. A little bit reckless, drinking in the daytime, he reasoned. Jessica would not have been impressed …
‘You literally saved my life,’ Ed grinned, clinking the neck of his beer bottle with Jake’s. ‘I feel bad leaving Rosie in charge of wrangling wedding guests but, trust me, she’s a better man than me for the job.’
‘You’re lucky, you know,’ Jake replied, taking another swig of beer. ‘Rosie’s a wonderful woman.’
‘She is.’ Ed seemed to glow in the darkened bar booth. ‘I have to pinch myself every day. I know how lucky I am.’
‘I’m happy for you. And, hey, I’m sorry I wasn’t in town for your engagement party, man. There seems to have been a lot happening in New York that I missed.’
Ed frowned. ‘What engagement party?’
‘Yours and Rosie’s?’ Jake stared at his brother. ‘Don’t tell me you guys didn’t have an engagement party?’
‘No, we didn’t. We got engaged and then had a string of big wedding orders at Kowalski’s so we – didn’t get round to it.’
Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Surely the momentous event of Rosie and Ed agreeing to marry each other should be marked? He thought back to the lavish engagement party he and Jessica had enjoyed in an exclusive New York club – so expensive that it rivalled the wedding for extravagance. Back then it seemed the most natural thing to do. The expense was an expression of the enormous impact Jessica’s acceptance of his proposal had on his life; to spend any less wouldn’t have done their engagement justice.
‘And Rosie was OK with that?’
Ed shrugged. ‘It was her idea.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Then you clearly don’t know my fiancée very well. Rosie’s practical. She didn’t want the hassle of organising a party when we were flat out at Kowalski’s.’
Jessica would never have stood for that. From the earliest days of their relationship Jake had learned that everything his partner did was designed to be seen by others. One hundred and fifty guests to the exclusive engagement party; two hundred guests to their wedding at her parents’ house overlooking beautiful Half Moon Bay; and no expense spared at either. Both events had been reported in the society pages, the beautiful people of New York and California gathered in black tie and ball gowns for the eager lenses of the national press. Of course Rosie was different, but Jake still felt a pang of sadness that she had been denied the opportunity to celebrate her engagement.
‘I have an idea,’ he said, even as it was still forming in his mind.
‘Oh?’
‘Let me throw you guys a party. Consider it my belated engagement gift.’
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that, man.’
The more he considered it, the more Jake believed his idea to be a great one. ‘I’m serious, Ed. Let me do this for you. You and Rosie have been rocks for me lately. I just want to repay your kindness. What do you say?’
Surprised, Ed hugged his brother. ‘Yes, then. Thanks, bro.’
Jake smiled as they pulled apart. It was a brilliant idea: allowing him to express his deep gratitude for the support he’d received from Rosie and Ed while also giving him something completely non-Jessica-related to focus on. Besides, it had been a while since he had felt like celebrating. This could be just what the doctor ordered.
You’re a genius, Jake Steinmann, he congratulated himself. This party is the start of something new …
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_faadd0f9-f74c-5fa5-b4db-765406c856b2)
Celia and Stewart’s apartment, 91st Street Upper West Side (#ulink_faadd0f9-f74c-5fa5-b4db-765406c856b2)
Bea stepped out of the yellow cab and gazed up at the bay windows of the traditional New York brownstone building. She loved this street and had taken every opportunity to visit since her brother Stewart had moved in here with his girlfriend Celia. The leafy boughs of London Plane trees rustled in the light breeze above her head and gave the street an air of serenity and calm, despite the constant buzz of Manhattan traffic at the end of the block. It seemed a world away from Brooklyn and the perfect place for Bea after the events of the day. Right now, she needed familiarity and comfort – and her brother was the one who could provide it.
‘Bea! Come on up,’ Stewart’s voice crackled through the door intercom and Bea headed inside the elegant brownstone. He was waiting for her as she reached his floor, leaning casually against the doorframe of his apartment. ‘Coffee’s on and I have muffins from M&H Bakers.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Bea smiled, taking off her coat and walking inside. The apartment was light and airy, bearing more evidence of her brother’s taste since he and Celia had recently redecorated. In addition to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that separated the living room from the dining area, a collection of Stewart’s beloved gadgets, games consoles and gym equipment had been assigned a place near the hallway that led to the bedrooms. True to form, his things were arranged haphazardly, more than a little at odds with the ordered regularity of Celia’s belongings. But, much like their unconventional relationship, it worked perfectly.
Bea and Stewart settled on chairs by the table in the large bay window and Bea helped herself to a triple chocolate muffin, the scent of freshly brewed coffee making her mouth water.
‘Have you eaten lately?’ Stewart asked, inadvertently sounding like their mother.
‘Not much,’ Bea replied through mouthfuls of chocolate sponge. Perhaps it was being so far away from Brooklyn – and Otis – but her recently absent appetite had made a sudden return. She laughed when she saw her brother’s amusement. ‘It must be the magic of M&H.’
‘Now, that I can’t argue with. Seriously, Bea, how are you doing? You left so quickly after the meal the other night.’
Bea felt her heart sink. ‘Well, I didn’t want to hang around. Not with Aunt Ruby’s loud damnations ringing in my ears. Public humiliation isn’t something you want to prolong.’
‘You weren’t humiliated, sis. Your boyfriend on the other hand …’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ Bea’s sudden admission made her appetite evaporate once more. ‘Not any more.’
Stewart took a few moments to process this. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only you’ve said this before and …’
‘It’s definite this time. I’m done with Otis and his broken promises. I just can’t do it any more.’ She shook her head. ‘Russ thinks I’m being hasty, of course. He’s convinced we’re destined for each other. But he should try dating Otis. I’m tired of the stupid roundabout of my love life, Stew. I’ve decided to get off it for good.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know.’
Stewart refilled their coffee mugs. ‘So what’s the plan now?’
‘Focus on the things in my life that work. Russ is talking about putting a coffee bar into the bookshop and I have lots of ideas for promotions and evening events. Also, I’m thinking of looking for a bigger apartment.’
‘Moving uptown at last, eh?’
Bea laughed. ‘No fear. It’s Brooklyn all the way, baby! I like where I live. I’d just like somewhere with a bit more room.’
‘It all sounds good. But you haven’t answered my question, Bea: how are you really?’
Bea thought back to the night of the doomed family meal – the uniform disappointment of her gathered family members, the sympathy in their expressions that she really didn’t need to see, and the crushing realisation that, once again, Otis had let her down. How was she meant to be after an experience like that?
‘It was mortifying,’ she confessed, staring into the dark depths of her coffee. ‘A whole history of happy-ever-afters around the table and I couldn’t even get my boyfriend to keep a promise he’d made to all of them. It made me feel like a failure, through no fault of my own. And more than anything else, it made me realise that I’m the exception in the James family: I’m destined not to find a decent relationship.’
‘Bea …’
‘I mean it, Stew. Let’s face it, by the law of averages it had to happen to someone eventually. It would be impossible to have so many generations of childhood sweetheart success stories without one blip. That’s just what I am. A blip.’
Her brother’s laugh was gentle but still stung. ‘You’re being melodramatic. This is one relationship, Bea. There’s no unwritten rule that every member of the James family has to find true love at their first attempt. If that were true, I’d have been sunk years ago. The point is we all get there in the end. Otis isn’t The One: that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there who might be.’
Bea wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t see anything beyond the possibility of years of disappointment stretching into the future. Frankly, there were other things she would rather expend her energies on. Things that had at least a hope of success attached to them.
‘I don’t know if I can be bothered to look for them any more.’
Stewart took his sister’s hand across the table. ‘Then stop looking for now. You need to be good to yourself, sis. I hate seeing you down.’
‘Am I missing something good?’ The door to the apartment slammed and Bea looked up to see the flamboyant figure of her brother’s partner approaching.
‘Hi Celia,’ she smiled, standing to receive a hug.
‘Honey, how are you? I was so worried after that awful dinner.’ She placed her hand on Bea’s forehead as if expecting to find a raging temperature. ‘Are you well?’
‘She’s fine,’ Stewart laughed, rising to fetch another mug from the kitchen. ‘Put my sister down before you strangle her.’
Celia pulled up a chair and sat beside Bea. ‘The man is an oaf, Bea darling! He’s not worthy of you. I hope you tore a strip off him when he finally showed his face.’
‘I did more than that,’ Bea replied, secretly touched by Celia’s overblown concern. ‘I told him we were over.’
Celia’s eyebrows shot heavenwards. ‘Oh? Well, I’m proud of you, honey! Men like that have to learn that women aren’t doormats to be abandoned at a moment’s notice.’
‘Can you abandon a doormat?’ Stewart grinned at Bea, but Celia wasn’t listening. For a full five minutes she launched a scathing attack on Otis Greene’s lack of manhood, complete rudeness and inability to be the man Bea needed him to be.
‘You’re better off without him. Why waste your life on a loser?’
Why indeed, Bea smiled to herself. ‘Enough about that, anyway. How’s everything with your book?’
Celia heaved a dramatic sigh as Stewart kissed the top of her head, placing a fresh mug of coffee in her hands. ‘Exhausting. But I think we’re almost there. My publisher insists on making last-minute changes to my manuscript that make no grammatical sense whatsoever – I swear they think I don’t know how to write. I’m only a senior New York Times columnist for heaven’s sake. What the hell do I know?’
‘When do you publish?’
‘In a month. Of course, I’ll be glad when it’s out on the shelves, but I’m not convinced I’d do it again. Still, if it worked for Nora Ephron, I have to hope it’ll work for me.’
Bea decided to ask the question she had been mulling over for a few weeks. If Celia agreed, it would be the first major event Hudson River Books had ever held – and could be the start of a whole new chapter in the bookshop’s success. If not, it was back to the drawing board.
‘I’ve been thinking – and please feel free to say no – but how would you like to hold the launch of your book at my bookstore? We’d love to have you and I could arrange everything.’
Celia exchanged glances with Stewart and beamed brightly at Bea. ‘Now that is just perfect! I was only saying to your brother last night I thought your place would be ideal. Of course! Pencil it in!’
Bea felt as if the sun had just broken free on a very dark day. ‘That’s wonderful! Why don’t you come down to the bookstore soon and we’ll go through everything you’d like?’
Celia offered a perfectly manicured hand and Bea shook it. ‘You just got yourself a deal, lady!’
As Celia and Stewart began to talk about their respective days at work, Bea gazed out of the bay window to the street below. This was the positive sign she had been longing for – and she was determined to make it a success.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_12648a5e-c151-507d-9e0b-ff94f3c05825)
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side (#ulink_12648a5e-c151-507d-9e0b-ff94f3c05825)
The loft apartment looked like a movie set. As the owner gave Jake a tour, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the space. Architect-designed and full of light, the apartment smelled of money – every detail an indicator of taste and expense. Frosted glass met industrial slate and polished cherry wood floors. Generous couches in neutral tones were arranged around exposed brick walls. Glass and brushed steel staircases rose from either end of the room to a mezzanine above, with bedrooms situated off it. Two-storey glass windows provided the most amazing view of the Upper West Side – at night the lights of the city would meet the stars and guests could wander out onto the slate balcony to admire the view. It was perfect.
‘And you don’t mind if we clear some furniture for the party?’ he asked.
Eric Reynolds, the owner of the gorgeous living space and an old friend from Jake’s Yale days, nodded. ‘No problem. We do it often, actually. My practice holds all its business functions here so we’ve become old hands at furniture removal.’ He slapped a friendly hand on Jake’s back. ‘You know, it’s good to see you, man. I thought we’d lost you to the West Coast forever.’
Jake laughed, but his heart was heavy. ‘Me? Never! Always an East Coast fella.’
‘Good. We should do a weekend at the Hampton house some time. Laura would love to see you.’
‘How is the family?’
Eric chuckled. ‘Growing. Suddenly I’m the father of three teenagers and I have no idea how it happened. The boys are good, though, even if they have relegated me to “old man” status in backyard basketball matches. And Laura hasn’t changed in twenty years. So, what do you reckon?’
Jake looked up at the light flooding in from the glass roof of the apartment. ‘It’s perfect. Ed and Rosie will love it. And I hope you and Laura can join us?’
‘Unfortunately, we’re out of town that Friday. But we’ll expect you all at the house soon, OK?’
In a coffee shop around the corner from the apartment, Jake pulled out his Moleskine notebook and ticked ‘VENUE’ off his to-do list. Remembering that Eric Reynolds had an apartment he let out for events had been a masterstroke this morning and a large part of Jake’s planning conundrum solved. Now what remained was a bar, waiting staff and a caterer, perhaps a DJ, maybe some mood lighting. Jake looked at his list and congratulated himself. This party planning was easier than he’d imagined.
He sipped his flat white and glanced around the coffee shop interior. A long line stretched along the counter towards the door but the speed of service meant that even those at the back of the queue weren’t visibly rattled by having to wait. That said, compared with San Franciscan coffee shop customers, this queue would appear uptight. Jake shuddered as a familiar thud of reality echoed through him. Everything had seemed easier on the West Coast – the sunshine and laid-back atmosphere permeating every aspect of life. Except for his marriage, which should have been the easiest thing of all. Why did Jessica leave him? What happened to change how she felt about him?
Jake groaned. Speculation was pointless. Jess had her reasons – whatever they were – and he was powerless to change her mind. He could go over and over the situation until the end of time and never find the answers. Jessica simply didn’t want to be his wife any longer. The unsigned divorce papers in his still-unpacked apartment were irrefutable evidence of that.
He turned his attention back to the neatly written to-do list. This was what he should focus on, something removed from his marriage situation.
Make this a success, he wrote in bold, confident letters, and the rest will follow.
Alongside the list of engagement party tasks, Jake had written an extensive list that would take even longer to complete. When he moved from San Francisco he had left more than his marital home behind. Along with his friends and lifestyle he had also left his business – a thriving psychotherapy practice that he had built from scratch. Even now, he regretted having to leave his hard work on the other side of the US. Still, at least the money from its sale would go a long way to seeing him established in New York. And, as Ed had joked, there were fewer places in the world more in need of mass therapy than Manhattan.
‘It’ll be a goldmine,’ he’d assured Jake. ‘They’ll be lining up outside to dump their neuroses on you.’
Jake hoped Ed was right. Certainly their father and eldest brother Daniel had profited handsomely from dealing with the minds of the Big Apple, so there was no reason to suppose he wouldn’t do the same.
If only it were that easy. Finding the right premises was a challenge. Too close to the centre of New York and he could be lost in the city blur; too far away and he would just be lost. He needed to be where people needed him and were willing to pay for his services, so affluent areas were preferable. But affluent areas spelled expensive rents and to place his fledgling business in the wrong area would prove costly indeed.
Deep down, Jake hated that money was always the bottom line. When he graduated from medical school he had entertained lofty aspirations to treat everyone, regardless of income. And, for a couple of years, he had worked in volunteer practices, offering psychological assistance to the police and community outreaches in addition to his junior partner position at a local psychotherapy unit. He had almost burned himself out in the process, but had felt a deep sense of pride to be doing the right thing.
Then, he met Jessica. And everything changed. Her father was a powerful businessman in the city and only too happy to send wealthy colleagues Jake’s way. With the profits from his new clientele, Jake was soon able to set up his own practice, moving wholesale to San Francisco a year later when Jessica was offered a position at a West Coast interior design agency. Since then, Jake’s business had focused solely on private clients – and he had become comfortable with the safety and security it afforded him.
Maybe he had become too comfortable with everything. Maybe that was why Jessica left …
He shook the thought away. He hadn’t changed: she had. He needed to focus on rebuilding his business. Premises and good staff, definitely a great PA, maybe a practice partner in time – all of these things he had control over and could ensure he made a success of.
He spent the afternoon calling recruiters and realtors, his list getting longer as appointments to view premises and meet potential staff built up. Back in his apartment and pleased with a productive day’s work, Jake closed his notebook and stretched his aching arms above his head as the light began to fade over the Williamsburg skyline. He poured a glass of bourbon and relaxed back in his favourite leather chair – one of the few pieces of furniture he had brought from his previous home. The apartment grew dark as streetlights flared into life, casting an eerie orange glow around the bare walls. A single shaft of white light from a neighbouring building’s security lamp illuminated the table by the window – and the dreaded brown envelope confirming the end of his marriage. Taking a long sip of bourbon, Jake let pain wash over him as he closed his eyes.
CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_365e3e5f-e52f-533f-83bd-9bb587cf01a7)
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn (#ulink_365e3e5f-e52f-533f-83bd-9bb587cf01a7)
‘Celia Reighton is a legend!’ Russ stroked the journalist’s latest column in the New York Times, which was spread across the counter in Hudson River Books.
The column was a wry take on the Mayor of New York’s recent speech at a fundraiser in which he mistakenly referred to Donald Trump as ‘Sir Donald’. A furore had broken out, Manhattan’s journalists having a field day at his expense while political opponents claimed this as evidence of the Mayor’s unsuitability for the job. Celia, in her inimitable fashion, was musing on the Mayor’s secret plan to ‘Olde-Englandise’ New York:
One has to wonder what’s next? Will suits of armour be seen on Wall Street? Will corsets be compulsory at New York Fashion Week? Before we know it, our esteemed Mayor will have the whole of Manhattan as a giant, Disney-esque theme pub. My advice? Be sure to sign up for those jousting lessons now, before the rush begins …
‘I think I actually love her,’ Russ laughed.
‘Well, hands off. My brother’s already claimed her.’
‘Shame.’ Russ studied Bea. ‘You look better today.’
‘Thanks. I feel better.’
‘Did you and Otis talk?’
Bea ignored her irritation. ‘No. We have nothing else to talk about. I’ve been thinking: Celia’s book launch could be the first of many evening events Hudson River Books could host. I thought we could collaborate with the Comedy Cavern and do an open-mic style event nearer the summer, if you’re up for it?’
‘Well look at you, Ms Businesswoman of the Year! It’s all good, Bea.’
‘Thank you.’ Pleased with herself, Bea looked around the bookstore. It was coming together at last.
‘When is Ms Reighton arriving to look around?’
‘About ten. But Stewart said to expect her any time between now and two p.m.’ Bea smiled. ‘Time-keeping isn’t her forte, apparently.’
Russ looked hurriedly around the shop. ‘Heck, I need to tidy this place for when she arrives. We can’t have a New York Times star columnist seeing the bookstore like this.’
‘Like what? It looks great.’
Russ stared at Bea. ‘So you say. But we’re talking New York royalty here. I’m not settling for anything less than perfect.’
Bea giggled as her friend set about cleaning the already clean shop. She was used to Russ panicking but today he was doing it at an entirely new level. Bea understood his nerves: she too was a little daunted by the task. It was a coup to host Celia’s event, but, knowing her reputation and respect within the literary community of the city, the prospect of famous authors, socialites and powerful journalists eating canapés and drinking wine at Hudson River Books was slightly terrifying. She was excited though: if the bookstore could pull this off, anything was possible.
As predicted, Celia breezed into Hudson River Books just after one o’clock, by which time Russ was more tightly wound up than a spring. Not wanting to risk her colleague exploding in Celia’s presence, Bea despatched him to the local coffee shop to fetch drinks. At least this way she could guarantee ten Russ-free minutes to talk about the important things with Celia.
‘I love this place!’ Celia said, walking around the bookstore and inspecting the bare-brick walls, comfortable leather chairs and informally arranged bookshelves. ‘It’s so inviting, so warm and welcoming. Every bookstore should be like this.’
Bea had overheard similar conversations between customers over the last couple of years but it was wonderful to hear it said directly to her. It was what she and Russ had worked so hard for: to create a store that people wanted to linger in. Cosy beanbags, cushions and chairs were arranged throughout for customers to sit and enjoy their books; special genre-themed zones changed regularly so there was always something new to discover; quotes from Books of the Month were chalked up on thought-bubble-shaped blackboards around the store; and they had even devised a ‘Take A Chance on Me’ book service, where a pile of titles wrapped in brown paper with labels hinting at the stories within invited readers to discover an author they might not have read before.
As Celia continued to enthuse about the fixtures, fittings and ambience of the bookstore, Bea beamed with pride. She remembered making her Grandma Dot laugh when, as a little girl, she had earnestly asked if the local bookshop in her home town might let her live there if she asked nicely enough. She had even devised a back-up plan if the bookshop declined her idea: the local library’s children’s section had very comfortable patchwork beanbags that could easily make a bed. As long as books surrounded Bea all the time, she wasn’t fussy about where she lived. Now she was living out her childhood ambition – almost. Hudson River Books was definitely the kind of book-filled space that she would happily spend every hour of her life in.
Aware of the brief amount of time she had before her colleague’s return, Bea sat on the large black leather sofa in the corner that would soon house Russ’ coffee bar and invited Celia to join her.
‘I’ve been thinking about the book launch,’ she said, pulling out her notebook and scanning the list of suggestions with the shaking tip of her pen. ‘I’d love it if you would do a reading for us. I thought, with your permission, we could reproduce some quotes from your book and hang them around the walls. We have some bespoke frames that we use for seasonal promotions and Russ is a graphic design whizz.’
‘I like it. Go on.’
Encouraged, Bea shared more items from her list. The French bistro opposite the bookstore had agreed to serve mini versions of its popular dishes as canapés and provide as much wine as the guests could drink, while the small stationery store further down 8th Avenue had offered to hand-print invitations for the event and supply matching goody bags for all attending.
Celia listened to Bea, nodding enthusiastically. ‘You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you? I must say, I’m impressed. Stewart told me how much this event means to you. Talking of which, how are you? Has that awful man tried to contact you?’
Slightly taken aback at the speed with which Celia had changed the subject, Bea took a few moments to reply. ‘I – um – I’m fine and no, thankfully, Otis hasn’t been in touch. But then I did tell him we were over, so it’s little wonder he’s left me alone.’
Celia folded her hands in her lap and fixed Bea with a look that made her a little nervous. ‘You know what you need? A night out. Great company, good wine – get away from all thoughts of relationships and enjoy yourself.’
Bea had to admit that sounded good. Lately all she had done was dodge thoughts about Otis and her failed love life. ‘I’d like that.’
Celia’s smile illuminated the store. ‘Excellent! My good friend is having a party in the Upper West Side, Friday night. It’ll be full of interesting people and I hear the private venue is to die for. Say you’ll come.’
Bea laughed at the unexpected invitation. What else would she be doing on a Friday night, anyway? ‘OK. I’d love to.’
That evening, Bea sat alone in her cosy apartment in the Boerum Hill neighbourhood of Brooklyn. To the casual observer, the only differences between her business and her home were a few more chairs, a kitchen sink and a bedroom; the rest of the space being devoted to books. Russ jokingly referred to Bea’s apartment as a ‘flat-share’ arrangement: ‘It’s nice of the books to let you stay. Do they charge you reasonable rent?’
Bea smiled now as she sipped a large mug of hot chocolate and ran her fingers along the spines of her books. Since ending her relationship with Otis she found she was enjoying being alone. The days following the awful family dinner had given her time to reflect on her recent life and what she had seen hadn’t been pretty. She realised she had become so focused on tackling potential problems Otis could cause that she had been neglecting her own life. She had been a fire-fighter rather than the trailblazer she wanted to be. That was going to change.
Bea couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to think only of herself. Between her final year of university and the start of this week she had lurched from one doomed relationship to another, with barely time to catch her breath in between. On one hand it proved she was a woman in demand – as Stewart had often said – but the problem was the kind of men lining up to date her.
She caught sight of her reflection in the vintage mirror she had bought last year at the Brooklyn Flea market. Well, no more, she told herself. From now on, it’s all about me.
She meant it, too. Why should her life revolve around relationships? Who wrote that rule, anyway? More than anything, Bea wanted to be known for who she was, what she could achieve. Placing the responsibility for her happiness on someone else was only going to lead to more heartache. Her family might have the monopoly on successful relationships, but she didn’t have to join them. It was her time to be whoever she wanted to be. And right now, she wanted to be happy being herself.
Her reflection started back, singularly unconvinced. Otis Greene still had a heavy hold on her heart. She let out a sigh. Clearly this was going to take some getting used to.
The shrill ring of her 1950s red Bakelite phone made her turn from the mirror.
‘Hi, Bea James?’
‘Sweetheart! It’s Mum. Can you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear.’ Bea smiled and all of a sudden wished her parents hadn’t set off on their long-planned trans-American adventure the day after the family meal. ‘How are you both?’
‘Your dad is driving a forty-two foot Winnebago, so he’s like a kid, as you can imagine. And I’m a happy navigator with my lovely new maps. More to the point, how are you?’
‘I’m good.’ She hesitated, wondering how much to tell her mother, before reasoning that Stewart would most likely fill her in on all the details even if she didn’t. Better to bite the bullet. ‘Single, again. But it’s the right thing.’
‘Good.’ Her mum’s reply didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’m sorry we had to leave so quickly, darling. Thing is, your father has a list as long as your arm that he wants us to get through before we fly home.’
‘It’s fine; I know you’ve been dreaming about this trip for years. Where are you now?’
‘Philadelphia. Next is Boston and New England. I suspect he has the historical tour worked out for every place we visit, but that’s what I get for marrying a history lecturer. Are you sure everything is OK?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Because if not I can tell your dad to turn the Winnebago around right now.’
Bea could hear a muffled retort from her father and missed him incredibly. ‘You’re not getting out of Dad’s magical history tour that easily.’
‘Rats. Oh well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. I’ll check in next week, though. That’s if your dad hasn’t bored me off the face of the planet.’
‘She loves it, Bea-Bea! Love you!’ Bea’s dad called out.
‘Love to you both. Tell Dad to drive safely and let you have a day off for shopping in Boston.’
‘I will. That’s why I love you! Bye, Bea!’
When the call ended, Bea looked around her book-strewn apartment, which suddenly seemed too quiet. I’m fine, she told herself. Absolutely fine.
CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_f2a13a3a-6a87-5411-8a29-73646738fcf5)
Chez Henri, Upper West Side (#ulink_f2a13a3a-6a87-5411-8a29-73646738fcf5)
‘Smoked salmon with wilted spinach and cumin,’ the waiter announced, placing a small tasting plate of beautifully constructed canapés in front of Jake. ‘We also have gazpacho and lime shots and bourbon-marinated beef with wasabi glaze.’
Jake stared at the table covered in white plates with sumptuous edible art and sighed contentedly. Party planning definitely had its perks, not least in Manhattan, and he congratulated himself on the fortunate position he found himself in. He could quite happily do this every day for the rest of his life.
‘It looks wonderful,’ he smiled, noting the pride of the chef standing beside the table. ‘All of it.’
‘Please,’ the chef invited, keen to see his potential customer sample the dishes laid before him.
Every tiny mouthful was an explosion of flavour, layer upon layer of taste experiences that delighted the palate and seemed designed to excite every one of Jake’s senses. Eric had been right about this place. Chez Henri’s food could rival the best in the world and was definitely the hot ticket in New York. No wonder the chef was rumoured to be on his way to achieving a Michelin star for his creations.
Feeling a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny of the chef and attendant waiting staff, Jake turned to Henri DuChamp. ‘Why don’t you join me and talk me though your dishes?’
The waiter and three waitresses exchanged looks of surprise, but Chef Henri’s expression didn’t flicker. With a gesture of his hand the waiting staff retreated to the kitchen and he sat down.
‘Merci, Monsieur.’
‘Call me Jake, Henri, please.’
Henri laughed. ‘Thank you, Jake. This is unusual, but I must confess I prefer it.’
‘You don’t get to do this often?’
The chef shook his head. ‘Most people like to be waited on.’
‘Ah,’ Jake smiled. ‘Well, I am not one of those people. The thing is, I’m organising an engagement party for my brother and his fiancée. They’re very special to me and I want the event to be relaxed, happy and characterised by awesome food.’
‘Then in my opinion, these dishes here would be the best for the occasion,’ Henri replied, pulling plates from the far side of the table. ‘We will begin here and you tell me what you like. Together, we will create the perfect menu.’
‘Sounds good, Henri.’
The chef beamed and then, checking that none of his staff were listening, he leaned closer to Jake. ‘But you know what would make the tasting even better?’
Jake expected Henri to recommend a fine wine, expensive champagne or rich cognac. ‘What?’
Henri chuckled. ‘An ice-cold beer.’
‘A beer? Henri, I like your thinking.’
‘And that, Jake, is why we are going to become firm friends …’
‘Bro, this is too much.’ Ed shook his head as he read the list of dishes Jake had selected for the engagement party. ‘Rosie and I would’ve been happy with a bar somewhere …’
‘I know you would. But if it had been left to you guys to plan this party it wouldn’t have happened. Which is why you asked me. And which, Eduardo, is why you’re having what I decide you’re having.’
Ed whistled and leaned against the florist store counter. ‘Rosie will flip out when she sees this. I haven’t been able to take her to dinner for months; it’s like you’re bringing all the food we’ve missed to one party.’
‘But you think she’ll like it?’
‘Like it? She’s likely to forget she’s engaged to me and marry you instead.’ He put the menu on the counter and shook Jake’s hand with the handshake they had devised as teenagers: hands clasped low, switching to holding thumbs, finished with a fist-bump. ‘Thanks, man.’
‘Hey, my pleasure. Now all I need from you is a list of all the people you forgot in the initial guest list.’
Ed’s sheepish expression confirmed how well his brother knew him. ‘There were a couple I missed off …’
‘What’s this?’ Ed and Rosie’s multi-hued assistant picked up the list, her other hand protectively resting on her considerable baby bump.
‘It’s the menu for the engagement party on Friday, Marnie,’ Ed said.
‘Goat’s cheese? Brie? I can’t eat this, Ed!’
Ed stared at her. ‘Who says you’re invited?’
Marnie stuck out her chin. ‘Rosie did. And Jake. And you for that matter.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Ah.’
‘Exactly. I can’t believe you wouldn’t consider the needs of your very important pregnant friend.’
Ed groaned. Jake jumped in to save his brother from the terrifying fury of Marnie Andersson’s pregnant indignation. ‘But we did, Marnie.’ He took the paper gently from her clenched fist and drew her attention to an extra set of dishes printed on the reverse. ‘These are specially designed with the specific needs of your pregnancy diet in mind. No unripened soft cheese, no egg yolk, no rare meat or fish, no alcohol.’
Marnie squeaked and hugged Jake as best she could around her belly. ‘You’re a darling! If I wasn’t with Zac …’
‘And almost eight months pregnant,’ Ed pointed out.
‘That wouldn’t matter.’ She shrugged off the suggestion. ‘He looks like Henry Cavill, only with blue eyes. The twins would love him.’ Happy, she waddled away to greet a customer who had just arrived.
Jake felt his cheeks burning. ‘Wow.’
‘She’s an original,’ Ed agreed. ‘And, thankfully for you, very in love with Zac, otherwise known as the Fit Guy.’
‘Can you tell I’m relieved?’ Jake’s heart was thudding nevertheless. Despite the growing acceptance of his new single status, he wasn’t quite ready to be propositioned by a heavily pregnant woman. He grinned at his brother, who handed him a mug of smoky coffee from Kowalski’s ancient-looking coffee machine. ‘Hasn’t Rosie retired that thing yet?’
Ed feigned offence. ‘Shh! That’s a very valuable member of our staff you’re abusing. Trashing Old F would be sacrilege. Besides, as long as he makes great coffee, who are we to judge how he looks?’
‘I hear you.’ He tasted the coffee and was again surprised by how excellent a brew could come from such a dubious coffee maker. ‘OK, what?’
Ed was looking at him intently and the instant sinking sensation Jake experienced could only herald one thing: he was about to receive a ‘concerned older brother chat’. He had learned it from their father – a past master at the serious Steinmann conversation switch – although Ed would vehemently deny it if Jake ever pointed this out to him.
‘Have you dealt with – it – yet?’
Jake folded his arms. ‘It?’
‘Come on, man, you know what I mean. The letter. From Jessica’s lawyer. That, I’m guessing from your expression, is still in the envelope it arrived in?’
Jake wished his brother didn’t know him quite as well as he did. Of course he hadn’t replied to the letter. He’d told himself he was too busy and had made sure the engagement party preparations demanded as much of his time as possible. Between that and his to-do list for establishing his new Manhattan practice, what time was there left to deal with lawyers who only wanted to fleece him anyway?
‘I’ll deal with it.’
‘Yeah, sure. When do you reckon that’ll be, hmm? Five years? Twenty? You need closure on this. As soon as you can.’
Irritation rising, Jake prepared to face him down. ‘Easy for you to say. Before you met Rosie you never had a relationship last long enough for lawyers to notice. Apart from the ones you were bedding, that is.’
‘Ouch. You cut me deep, bro.’
Ed was mocking him, but Jake didn’t care. He was so sick of the entire world feeling entitled to tell him how to live his life: Jessica and her lawyer, Jake’s father, Ed, his own lawyer Chuck – even the lady who sold him coffee at his new neighbourhood coffee place had somehow learned that he was going through a divorce. What right did any of them have to advise him, however well meaning they were? ‘Of course I’ll answer the damn letter.’
Ed held up his hands. ‘Hey, it’s your call. Just don’t leave it too long.’
In the cab heading back to Williamsburg, Jake was still fuming. He knew Ed was right, but the truth of it was that he didn’t want to start the process that would inevitably lead to the end of his marriage. Jessica might have made herself undeniably clear when she walked out on him, but while they were still legally bound to one another there remained the possibility that – just maybe – there was a chance they might be reconciled. Jake hated the stubborn hope within him and wished that he didn’t still yearn for Jess to reconsider her decision. But, he reasoned, you didn’t spend almost ten years of your life loving someone only to let go of them so easily, did you?
He stared out at the grey Manhattan afternoon; the vivid yellow of New York cabs on either side of him appearing like splashes of sunlight against the leaden palette of the passing city. I’ll sign the papers soon, he decided. But I’m not ready yet.
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_f921e085-cd8c-57d2-af73-78caf3f33b73)
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn (#ulink_f921e085-cd8c-57d2-af73-78caf3f33b73)
If it was possible to have a coronary induced by new culinary machinery then Russ O’Docherty was going to need a paramedic. Bea watched her colleague unwinding bubble-wrap from the bookstore’s new espresso machine with the kind of breathless reverence normally reserved for priceless works of art, expensive gifts and beautiful women.
‘She … is … stunning …’
‘How do you know it’s female?’
‘Are you kidding me? Look at her curves, the shine on her chrome, the delicate curve of her milk arm …’
Bea shuddered. ‘That’s just creepy now. It’s a machine, Russ, not Marilyn Monroe.’
Russ clicked his fingers and stared at Bea as though she had just shared the meaning of life with him. ‘That’s perfect! We’ll call her Marilyn.’
‘We will?’
‘Sure! Men will want to worship at her feet, women will want to hang out with her and bask in her beauty.’
‘O-K … Well, when you’re done worshipping her, perhaps you can help me clear the corner where her shrine will be? The carpenter will be here in an hour.’
Reluctantly, Russ left the gleaming object of his affections to begin packing boxes of books as Bea dismantled a shelving unit that was making way for the new coffee bar. He shook his head as they worked, casting wry glances at Bea. And, while it pained her to admit it, Bea loved him for it. This was the way things had always been between them since the day they first met in a mutual friend’s dorm at Columbia. They had gone under the auspices of studying for a group project, but somebody had found a bottle of vodka and the gathering had quickly descended into hook-ups and hilarity. Attempting to avoid the advances of a particularly persistent English Lit major, Bea had headed for Russ, who looked like the only other person in the room who was as uncomfortable as she felt. Acting quickly upon seeing her predicament, Russ pulled her to him for a hugely theatrical stage kiss, sending her disappointed would-be suitor sulking away. When Bea recovered from the shock of his sudden embrace they struck up a conversation, and Bea discovered a kindred spirit with a wicked sense of humour whom she quickly felt an affinity with.
They had once tried to recreate the fake kiss for real, not long after their graduation when, both despondent after recent break-ups, they ended up drowning their sorrows in beer and cheap takeaway pizza at Bea’s apartment. It was a spontaneous moment that very nearly progressed further than either of them was prepared for, but before clothes were removed, Russ had pulled away. Bea had understood completely – the sudden awkwardness of their kiss sobering her – and they had never spoken of it since. Russ relied on Bea to be his closest friend and Bea felt the same. Their relationship represented the nearest thing to a successful partnership that either of them had experienced and therefore was not something they were willing to risk.
‘Look at this,’ Bea said, keen to take her mind off the sudden recollection of their historic drunken clinch. She held up a slightly faded hardback, its cover protected with the kind of plastic sleeve usually seen in libraries.
Her colleague’s expression instantly softened. ‘Oh, hello old friend! I didn’t realise Sid was still with us.’
Bea gave the cover an affectionate pat. ‘I think HRB would collapse if Sid ever left.’
Motorcycling For Life by Sid ‘Wolfman’ Wolkevic was the very first book Bea had unpacked as she and Russ had prepared to open their store, just over three years ago. At the time it had been the cause of their first argument in Hudson River Books, as neither of them would admit to ordering the book from the distributor. Since then, the book had periodically appeared on different shelves around the bookstore and, consequently, had become something of a phenomenon.
‘We should put him somewhere prominent,’ Russ suggested. ‘Or make him a one-off sale item. See if we can re-home him at last.’
Bea stared at her friend. ‘Or maybe we could just hide him on a new shelf and see if he finds his way to another one?’
‘You don’t want to let Sid leave, do you?’ Russ grinned, knowing he was right.
Bea hugged the book. There was no use denying the fact. ‘He’s like one of the family now. I’m not sure how I’d feel if someone tried to buy him.’
‘So take him home.’
‘But he lives here.’ Bea knew she was being sentimental, but Motorcycling for Life had become as much a part of the fixtures of Hudson River Books as the exposed brick walls, worn American oak floorboards or brushed steel lamps that hung from the high ceiling. Knowing that there was one book in their stock that never changed was oddly comforting, as if demonstrating to Bea that the hope and ambition with which she and Russ had founded the bookstore was unchanged too.
‘It’s one of the countless things I love about you,’ Russ replied. ‘Fine, you find Sid a new hiding place and I won’t look. That way his legacy will be preserved.’
‘Thank you.’ She checked her watch. ‘How do you feel about us closing a little early this evening? Once the carpenter has built the bar the bookstore will probably be full of sawdust anyway.’
Russ put the pile of books he was sorting into a box and folded his arms. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘I swear the tectonic plates beneath us shifted.’
‘Come on, it’s not that unusual for us to close early.’
‘Hello? This is so unusual the Discovery Channel is commissioning a show on it. May I ask why?’
Bea groaned. ‘Celia and Stewart have invited me to a party this evening, that’s all. Is that a problem?’
Russ shook his head, but was still looking at her as if she had just grown another nose. ‘No problem at all. I have a gig later anyway. I could use the time to work on my material. I was kinda hoping you’d come. You’ve been to every other one. You’re my one-woman receptive crowd, after all.’
Bea instantly felt like the worst friend in the world. Since Russ had embarked on his part-time onslaught on the local comedy club circuit, he had encountered more than one hostile crowd and, even though Bea was pretty sure she could recite his entire routine in her sleep, she had made a point of going to his stand-up gigs as often as she could. ‘I’m sorry, Russ, I didn’t know. Celia suggested it a few days ago and I think going somewhere different might be good for me.’
‘Go. It’ll do you good. Just – just don’t go looking for someone to replace Otis yet, OK?’
Bea couldn’t believe what Russ had said. Had he listened to nothing during their many conversations about her new single status that week? Did he honestly think she would dash into another relationship when the dust was still clearing after the collapse of her last?
‘I am going to get out of my apartment and try to live a little,’ she stated, aware of the defensiveness in her reply. ‘I have no intention of replacing anyone.’
‘Hell, Bea …’
Realising his mistake, Russ moved towards her but Bea, rattled by his obvious loyalty to Otis and inference that she couldn’t function without a boyfriend, turned and headed towards the back stairs which led to the office above the bookstore. She thought he might follow her but was relieved to see him return to the half-packed boxes as she left the shop floor.
She was still annoyed three hours later as she stood in her bedroom deciding what to wear for the party. Russ had apologised in all but words when she had finally rejoined him in the store, but it irked her that he could know her so well yet understand this aspect of her life so little. She held up a black skater dress with a red patent belt. Otis had never really liked it; although the few times she’d worn the dress her other friends had complimented her on it. That was enough of a reason to choose it, she decided. Stuff Otis. Tonight was about her embarking on the next phase of her life – where relationships didn’t cloud the issue and she could be true to herself. It would be good to be selfish for a change. Finding a pair of red patent heels, she nodded at her reflection in the bedroom mirror.
Tonight is all about Bea James, she told herself. Get ready for me, New York!
CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_186a5a25-aea2-5366-99bf-a8bfed1ac23d)
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side (#ulink_186a5a25-aea2-5366-99bf-a8bfed1ac23d)
They were all couples.
Why hadn’t he noticed this when he was sending out the eighty invitations for the party? Jake mentally kicked himself for being so naïve. Of course they would all be couples! People their age generally were. He and Jessica had fitted the demographic until recently and all their friends in San Francisco were either remarrying, having kids or just loved-up.
As Chez Henri’s polished waiting staff buzzed about the beautiful loft apartment, Jake watched each new couple arrive. The elegant champagne flutes they were furnished with at the door seemed to underline their quiet satisfaction with their situation in life. And each one reminded Jake that he could no longer be counted among their ranks.
He shook his irritation away. It would be fine. He was the party organiser and, as such, could legitimately busy himself with anything that looked like it could be part of his job. The evening would pass quickly, he could give Rosie and Ed the celebration they both deserved and everyone would be happy. He remembered countless conversations with his clients over the years about facing their fears head-on: The longer you hide from what you fear, the more seemingly insurmountable it becomes … When you put yourself in challenging situations, you find you have what you need to cope within you … He knew he was doing the right thing by being here. Jess was gone and he shouldn’t give up his life simply because she wasn’t a part of it any more.
A polite burst of applause drew his attention back to the apartment’s entrance lobby and Jake smiled as Rosie and Ed entered. He was struck by the way his brother looked at Rosie, a regard magnified by the company around them. Jake momentarily forgot his own battles, filled with deep love for the beautiful couple walking towards him.
‘This is amazing, Jake.’ Rosie kissed his cheek and Jake drew her into a hug. ‘It’s so lovely of you to do this for us.’
‘It’s my pleasure. And you look incredible, Ms Duncan.’ Jake was struck by how a simple red silk strapless dress was transformed on his soon-to-be sister-in-law, the vivid material contrasting with Rosie’s pale English rose skin, dark wavy hair and deep chocolate eyes. She was radiant. No wonder Ed looked like the kid that got all the candy from Santa Claus.
Rosie giggled and gave a little twirl. ‘I’m glad you approve.’
‘Hey, I’m pretty impressive too,’ Ed said, running a hand down his pale blue shirt. ‘Rosie says it brings out the colour of my eyes, you know.’
Jake laughed. ‘You look great, bro. Now, make yourselves at home, eat, drink and be happily engaged. If you want to make a speech I’d suggest waiting till nine when most people have arrived.’
He watched the happy couple wander away and smiled to himself as they received the warm congratulations of their friends. Many people in the room tonight knew what both Ed and Rosie had travelled through in their lives before they found each other. Consequently, the atmosphere in the party was one of genuine support and celebration.
There are worse places I could be tonight, Jake thought. Watching two of his most favourite people in the world being loved by so many guests was far from a chore.
He accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter and enjoyed the chilled bubbles as they slipped down his throat.
‘Jake.’
He turned to see Chef Henri standing beside him. ‘Hey, Henri. Everything looks good.’
Henri didn’t smile. ‘We’re one member of waiting staff short,’ he apologised, his annoyance plain to see. ‘It is late notice but, apparently, unavoidable. Of course we will rectify this in your bill …’
Jake clapped a hand on the chef’s shoulder. ‘I’m not worried. We have a beautiful event, your food is the best in the city and everyone here is smiling. If there’s a rush for the bar, I can pitch in.’
‘I can’t ask that of you …’
‘Sure you can. Call it a crazy demand from your client.’
The chef wasn’t convinced. ‘I am sure it won’t come to that. But thank you for your understanding.’
Jake chuckled to himself as he walked through the small clusters of guests. The prospect of working the bar at least gave him a legitimate job to do if the large number of couples became too much for him.
‘Jacob Steinmann!’ A deep voice boomed across the room, closely followed by a balding, rotund man in his early fifties. ‘Do you ever age?’
Jake shook hands with his former practice partner. ‘On the inside I’m one hundred and forty. How are you, Bob?’
Bob Dillinger laughed. ‘Good, good. What’s this I hear about you setting up a rival business in Manhattan?’
‘All true. I’m going to steal every one of your clients. Except I don’t play golf as well as you do, so I fear my world domination attempt is doomed to failure.’
‘You really should learn now you’re back in the land of the living,’ Bob said. ‘Got premises yet?’
Jake shook his head. ‘I’m seeing a couple of places on Monday morning.’
‘Take my advice: choose your location with care. The city’s a different animal since we worked together. You know if you need referrals you can count on me, I hope?’
‘That means a lot, Bob. How’s business for you?’
Bob’s chocolate brown eyes twinkled. ‘The financial crisis has been kind. Some people need reassurance; some just need a badge for their hang-ups. People have exchanged their job titles for professional psychosis lately. I swear thirty-five percent of my clients need recognition instead of therapy. Which means rich pickings for us guys as long as you don’t mind needy rich people.’
Jake hated to admit it, but he’d witnessed the same thing in his West Coast clients. Therapy was the new cosmetic surgery: cheaper than a facelift and easier to brag about at parties. ‘We do what we can.’
‘That we do, Jake. And hey, I’m truly sorry to hear about you and Jessica. So unexpected. Barbara and I were shocked when we heard.’
And there it is. Jake felt the thud of disappointment as his old foe reared its head once more. ‘It’s been tough. But we’ll get through it. I’m looking to the future and so is she.’ Please let that be enough, he added silently, knowing full well it wouldn’t be.
‘Still, being single in Manhattan is no easy run. I mean, look around you. Can you see anyone else single in this room?’
Every defence in Jake rose like sheets of steel. ‘I hear Chef Henri’s on the lookout for Wife Number Three.’
‘Bad news for you, then.’ Bob slapped his hand a little too enthusiastically on Jake’s back. ‘Don’t sweat it, man. You’ll bounce back. In the meantime, if you need setting up on any dates Barbara can put you in touch with lots of lovely ladies from her club. Just say the word and she’ll play Cupid.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Good, good. Ah, I’m being summoned. You take care, Jake.’
Jake maintained his smile until Bob had disappeared into the crowd, letting out a sigh and downing the rest of his champagne in a single gulp, then reaching for a fresh glass when a waitress passed by. It was going to be a long night …
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#ulink_a38f077f-b0bf-5cfc-bed8-0b60b96044c1)
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side (#ulink_a38f077f-b0bf-5cfc-bed8-0b60b96044c1)
As soon as Bea entered the expensive loft apartment, her heart sank.
Couples. As far as the eye could see.
In the middle of the room, a tall, good-looking man with an endearing mess of dark hair and vivid blue eyes was tapping a fork against his champagne glass to summon the guests’ attention. Bea took a glass from the smiling waiter and huddled between her brother and Celia as the room fell silent.
‘Hey, everyone. Now you know I’m not one for long speeches so this will be short and sweet. But I just wanted to thank you all for coming this evening and, especially, to my bro over there for arranging this whole event.’
The guests clapped and over their heads Bea saw a hand rise in acknowledgement.
‘But the main reason we’re here – as you all know – is a long overdue celebration of the best day of my life so far.’ He turned to a beautiful dark-haired woman in a stunning red dress beside him. ‘Rosie, when you agreed to marry me I couldn’t believe my luck.’
A chorus of ‘ahh’s came from the guests, closely followed by spontaneous laughter.
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you guys are more pathetic than I am.’
‘Get on with it!’ someone yelled.
‘OK, OK. I’m going to be serious for precisely one minute and then we can all enjoy the night.’ He smiled at his fiancée and a reverent silence claimed the room as every guest witnessed exactly how he felt about her. ‘Rosie Duncan, I love you. And I can’t wait to make you Mrs Steinmann this Christmas. You are all I want in life and to know I’m yours is better than breathing.’ He reddened and laughed at his own words. ‘And so, before I embarrass myself and everyone else beyond rescue, I’ll just say please raise your glasses to wish us the best.’
‘To Rosie and Ed!’ the crowd replied as one, crystal champagne flutes lifting around the room.
Bea’s skin felt damp and cold as sickening reality hit. This isn’t just a regular party. It’s an engagement party. How had Celia failed to mention this small detail? And how did she think going to an engagement party in a room full of couples she didn’t know would help Bea forget everything that happened with Otis?
Looking into her glass she realised she had already emptied it. Right now, getting drunk seemed like the perfect option …
‘See? I told you that you’d love these people!’ Celia said, swapping Bea’s empty glass for a fresh one without question.
‘It’s an engagement party,’ Bea hissed back.
‘Of course it is, honey. Rosie is one of my dearest friends and she and Ed are just such an adorable couple, don’t you think?’
‘They seem very happy … But that’s the point, Celia: they’re a couple. Just like everyone else in the room?’
Celia waved her hand. ‘Nonsense. Several of these gorgeous waiters must be single. Look at them, Bea! I’d say your luck’s in this evening …’
Bea resisted the urge to scream. Celia had a heart of gold but she could make the Dalai Lama lose his cool. ‘I didn’t come to find a man,’ she said carefully. ‘I came to get away from Brooklyn for a few hours.’
‘Well, in that case, the couples shouldn’t bother you at all, honey! Drink champagne, eat some of this fabulous food and relax. You’ll thank me for bringing you here, I promise.’
As Celia wafted away in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, Bea looked around the party. The full-length windows at the opposite end of the apartment gave a wonderful view of the Upper West Side, the lights from surrounding buildings a stunning mosaic set against a blue-black cloudless New York sky. She moved towards it, the beauty of her adopted city stealing her attention. Whatever else happened in her life, New York was the constant. The city could change and forge a blazing path of progress, but the vibrant heart of the Big Apple beat as surely as it ever had. It was the city that had called to Bea many years before as she dreamed of it in her family home in Shropshire, and being part of New York had been the reason for all of her decisions since the age of seventeen. It had painted an East Coast note in her accent, bled into her emotions and laid claim to her heart.
I was wrong about the party, Bea said to herself, I do have a friend here. She smiled at the breathtaking nightscape. Hi, NYC. I’m so glad to see you …
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
Bea looked across at the blond-haired guest beside her. She guessed he was in his thirties, although in this part of New York it was impossible to tell. He might just have a very good surgeon …
‘Stunning. Must be fabulous to live somewhere like this.’
He smiled, revealing a perfect set of brilliantly white teeth. ‘It is. Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself.’ He held his left hand out, the light from the halogen spots above them glinting across the wide gold band on his third finger. ‘Wes Avery.’
‘Bea James.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, Bea. So how do you know the happy couple?’
Given that this was a private engagement party for a couple Bea didn’t even know, she had been dreading this question. ‘They’re good friends of my brother’s partner, Celia.’
‘Celia Reighton? Wow, I didn’t realise I was in the company of a Reighton clanswoman.’ Seeing Bea’s confusion, he laughed. ‘I know her well. So you’re Stewart’s single sister, huh?’
Great. ‘I suppose I must be.’
‘I’ve been hearing about you from Celia. Seems she’s keen to get you hooked up.’
That figured. Bea kept her smile steady while secretly planning how she would exact her revenge on Stewart’s partner. ‘I see. Well, I’m in no hurry to …’
Wes’ hand appeared at the small of her back, the sudden – and uninvited – contact causing Bea to quickly step away. ‘Hey, don’t sweat it. Being single is an advantage. Just because people arrived here in couples, doesn’t mean they all want to leave in one.’ His thousand-kilowatt smile fixed squarely on her. ‘Listen, I have a great loft a few blocks from here. If you ever want a personal, private view of the Upper West Side, call me.’ He thrust a business card into her hand and sauntered away.
Stunned, Bea stared at it. Had a married man just propositioned her? This evening was getting better and better …
‘Sis, you’ve got to try the sashimi,’ Stewart said, stopping when he saw Bea’s horror. ‘What? You don’t like raw seafood?’
‘I do … I just …’ She swallowed as the full impact hit her. ‘A married guy just gave me his card.’
Stewart pulled a face. ‘Eeww. I hope you sent him packing?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Good. I’m afraid Celia is playing Millionaire Matchmaker for you. I’ve told her to stop, but you know what she’s like once she gets an idea in her head.’
Bea raised her eyes to the apartment’s high ceiling. ‘Fantastic. So not only am I fair game for adulterous Lotharios but I’m now your girlfriend’s pathetic pet project. I think I might just go, Stew. I don’t know anyone here and it should be a celebration for Celia’s friends.’
‘You’ve been here less than an hour. And whether you like it or not, this is what being single in Manhattan is like. Better to get used to it and learn to enjoy yourself, I reckon. Stay. Try the sashimi. It’ll change your life.’
‘Maybe later.’
Her brother shot her a look. ‘OK. But if I come back in half an hour and you’re still moping here I’m going to force-feed you gourmet food.’
‘Fine.’
Forget sashimi, Bea thought. What I need is a drink …
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ulink_b37ac329-cb30-53ce-94ff-1957331f84e6)
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side (#ulink_b37ac329-cb30-53ce-94ff-1957331f84e6)
‘So sorry to hear about Jess, man. I thought you two were made for life …’
Jake could feel the edges of his smile fraying and longed to change the subject. But this had become the sole topic of conversation with everyone he had talked to during the last hour. It was, of course, an unavoidable hazard; most of Ed’s friends had known Jake since childhood and therefore were fully appraised of every aspect of his life. And those who didn’t know every available detail were only too happy to be shocked by it tonight. Everywhere he walked in the elegant apartment, he could feel the pitying eyes of almost a hundred guests following him. How had this outcome not occurred to him when he was drawing up the guest list for this evening?
‘Shame you didn’t invite more single women,’ a well-meaning friend observed. ‘Even the waiting staff are all guys.’
Jake shrugged. ‘My bad. Anyway, I’m not looking.’
His friend’s blonde companion tittered. ‘This is Manhattan, Jake. Everybody is looking.’
‘Especially the ones who shouldn’t be,’ another friend quipped, his remark allowing the group now gathered around Jake to laugh and not feel so awkward about the situation.
Jake wished for light relief to rescue him in the same way, but none appeared. ‘They’re welcome to the search. I’m not in the game.’
The blonde’s nipped-and-tucked features fell as far as they could. ‘Don’t ever say that,’ she breathed. ‘You shouldn’t deny yourself, Jake! You’re still young and … virile …’ Her ill-disguised survey of just how young and virile Jake was left him reeling and he mumbled something unintelligible to make his escape.
This place is nuts! How had his good intentions towards Ed brought him into the minefield he now found himself in? He looked up to the apartment’s mezzanine where his brother and Rosie were looking happy and relaxed, sharing conversation with friends. At least they were enjoying tonight. This was their night, Jake reminded himself, not his. It would have to be his mantra for the rest of the party. That, and bourbon …
He remembered a client he had worked with back in his Russian Hill practice in San Francisco, who went to every social occasion convinced the rest of the guests knew his deepest, most secret thoughts.
‘They watch me, Dr Steinmann. They say pleasant things, but I can feel them scrutinising me. Like a bug.’
‘Why do you think they would want to do that, Ray?’
‘Are you kidding me? Do you know what I’m capable of thinking? They know it all, Doc. I can’t hide.’
Jake had spent months assuring Ray that small talk was a way to pass the time and socialise without asking too much of either party; that everyone had their own set of hang-ups and insecurities to deal with; and that it was impossible to see anyone’s innermost thoughts, however obvious they may seem to be. But even on their last session before Jake packed up his San Franciscan life, Jake hadn’t been entirely assured that Ray had accepted it.
Now, surrounded by familiar faces that did know Jake’s business and were making valiant attempts to guess his innermost thoughts, he felt a new affinity with his former client’s predicament.
‘Jake …’ Chef Henri was wringing his hands beside him. ‘I am so sorry, but …’
‘The bar?’
‘There is a considerable queue. Do you mind?’
Heart lifting, Jake could have kissed the apologetic chef but resisted, settling instead for slapping him amiably on the back. ‘I’m there.’
Swinging his jacket over one arm, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and strode through the guests towards the bar, which had been set up beneath the mezzanine, next to a floor-to-ceiling window looking out towards the beautiful night-time cityscape. Seeing the buildings and lights of the Upper West Side comforted Jake: while he’d loved his adopted city of San Francisco, he had always carried a secret longing for New York. His father’s favourite saying was true: Steinmanns were born with Big-Apple-shaped hearts.
‘Hey, New York,’ he smiled, pausing for a moment to take in the view. ‘Looking good.’ Taking a deep breath for the first time that evening, he turned towards the bar and jumped into the fray.
‘Scotch straight up, no ice.’
‘Manhattan – one olive.’
‘Red wine for me and a white for the lady …’
It had been years since Jake last worked a bar, but he quickly found his rhythm. It was good to find he hadn’t lost the skills he’d acquired during his last year at Yale and the distraction it gave him was priceless. Finally, he could lose himself in an activity that required no deeper thought than which bottle and glass to select. Maybe this was the ideal career for him, he mused as he worked. Psychiatry was far too introspective for his current state of mind …
The next hour flew by, Jake relishing the almost constant stream of thirsty guests vying for his attention. But as ten o’clock neared, the queue dwindled until the bar was almost empty. He helped himself to a long drink of cola, realising how thirsty his efforts had made him, and once again his eyes strayed from the bar to the night view from the huge window. There was much to do to re-establish his life in the city, but Jake knew he could make it a success here. This was his home: always had been. And that counted for a lot. Frank Sinatra had it pegged: if he could make it in the city that never sleeps, he could pretty much make it anywhere. He had spent too long feeling as if he was skulking back home, defeated. This had to stop – and tonight was as good a time as any.
‘White wine, please.’
Turning back to the bar, Jake smiled at the pretty redhead with eyes the colour of the winter sea. ‘Sure. Any preference?’
She stared at him, a weariness that didn’t seem to belong to her claiming her expression. ‘Large glass?’
He suppressed the urge to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, I meant French? Australian?’
‘Alcoholic.’ She dropped her gaze to the empty glass on the bar. ‘Please.’
Intrigued, Jake pulled a fresh glass from the box behind the makeshift bar and gave it a quick polish with a tea towel. ‘Tough night?’
‘You could say so.’
‘Ah. I see.’ He poured wine almost to the brim. ‘That enough?’
She raised her gaze, the smallest trace of a smile appearing. ‘Perfect.’
‘Enjoy.’
The woman gave a quick glance over her shoulder. ‘Actually, mind if I hang out here for a while?’ Her accent was difficult to place: the characteristic New York inflection was there, but something else lay beneath it. Boston, maybe? No. Washington?
‘Be my guest.’
Smiling her thanks, she pulled up a stool and sat down, hunched over her drink like the old men at Harry’s sports bar where Jake and Ed had wasted so many of their Saturday afternoons before Jake met Jessica. Was she hiding from someone? An overbearing partner, maybe? That didn’t seem likely. She didn’t look like the kind of woman to be subservient to anybody … Maybe her guy was of the too-intense ilk, smothering her with his affection?
Realising what he was doing, Jake pulled his thoughts to a halt. He knew nothing about this woman, but her muted demeanour told him she didn’t need the psychoanalysis of a total stranger tonight.
‘How’s the wine? Doing its job?’
‘Seems to be.’
‘Good.’
Did she even want to talk? Jake hesitated to ask another question – but to his surprise, the woman stared directly at him.
‘Everyone here is in a couple. I mean, everyone. Nobody told me. If they’d told me I wouldn’t be here.’
‘It’s not surprising, considering the occasion.’
The woman shook her head. ‘Of course. But the thing is, I didn’t know what the occasion was. I thought it was just a party. My brother’s partner omitted the key point of who the party was for.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘And now I feel like an idiot for not asking. I just thought it was a normal, Friday night party in the Upper West Side. How was I to know it was going to be the Couple Centre of the universe?’
English! That was the clipped note in her voice! Jake congratulated himself for identifying it. ‘If it helps, I didn’t figure on there being so many couples here, either.’
‘Well, there you are! I should be happy you’re in the same boat but I actually feel sorry for us both. What kind of world do we live in where everything is so dominated by relationships? Does this city only function in multiples of two? I don’t think so.’ She downed half her glass and coughed a little. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just done with it all.’
‘Done with this city?’
Her frown softened. ‘Oh no – never with this city. It’s the only thing you can rely on. I mean I’m done with the whole couple thing. You think it’s what you want, and you spend all your time pursuing it – but for what? To be disappointed, let down and ultimately dumped upon. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to see it, but this week I’ve realised something: I don’t need the hassle any more.’
Jake stared at her, suddenly wondering if Paranoid Ray was actually right. This woman – who knew nothing about him – was repeating almost word for word the thoughts that had been running through his head all evening. Without waiting for an invitation, he grabbed the wine bottle and refilled her glass.
‘I’m Jake,’ he said. ‘And I know exactly what you mean …’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#ulink_7148c794-813e-5bb7-8adc-e9d18db7836a)
Private loft apartment, Upper West Side (#ulink_7148c794-813e-5bb7-8adc-e9d18db7836a)
Bea couldn’t believe it. Was there really someone else in New York who thought relationships were a waste of time? She could feel the edges of her consciousness beginning to blur and resolved to drink slower. The barman’s confession intrigued her and she wanted to know more. There was honesty in his startling blue eyes that seemed to draw her in …
‘I’m Bea. Thanks for the wine.’
‘You’re welcome.’
They looked at each other for a while, the sounds of the party around them filling the air. For the first time that evening, Bea felt understood by someone else. Russ had done his best to sympathise with her, but beneath his kind words and pep talks lay the unmistakable desire to see her reunited with Otis. Celia and Stewart had listened, but they couldn’t mask their ultimate aim to see her as happily coupled-up as they were. Even her mum, speaking soothing words from the bumpy freeway as her dad drove their rented Winnebago across the United States, clearly thought her daughter just needed time before she found the man of her dreams. When it came down to it, nobody had tried to see it from Bea’s point of view. Until now …
Sure, he was a random barman in a party neither of them wanted to be at, but at least one person in the whole of New York City understood. And right now, that seemed to Bea like the most precious discovery.
‘So – how do you know?’ Bea asked, before she could think better of it, quickly adding, ‘If you don’t mind me asking?’ when she saw the slight droop of his shoulders.
‘About relationships? Because I received divorce papers this week.’
Instantly, Bea felt awful. Choosing to walk away from a relationship was one thing; having the decision made for you was something else. ‘Gosh – I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked …’
‘No, you should. It’s OK. Pretty much everyone else here knows already, so there’s no reason why you should escape the bulletin.’
‘That’s awful.’ Bea wished the floor would open and swallow her up. Her one interesting acquaintance in the room was now smiling so sadly at her that she felt like she’d just kicked a puppy.
‘Yours isn’t divorce, then?’ The joke was clearly intended to make her feel better and Bea appreciated it.
‘We didn’t make it as far as marriage,’ she smiled, finding the act of sharing such personal information with a relative stranger surprisingly liberating. ‘And I called it in the end.’
‘How long?’
‘Five years.’
Jake shook his head. ‘That’s tough. My marriage was seven, with three years before.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know.’
‘I probably should be sitting at home tonight, wishing for him back. But actually, I don’t want him back. Not like we were. It’s taken me standing in a room full of couples I don’t know and toasting a happy couple I don’t know either to discover that. The more I think about it, the more I think relationships and me are incompatible.’ She checked that Jake was still smiling at her. He was. At least that was something. ‘It might sound strange, but the thought of not being in a relationship isn’t scary to me any more. I have so much in my life that’s already working: why focus on an aspect that just makes me unhappy?’
‘I hear you. I’m sick of trying to explain that to people. Truth is, I don’t think I want another relationship.’
‘Me either!’
‘I mean, when the one you think was The One turns out not to be, what hope is there, huh?’
He had a nice laugh, Bea thought. Maybe it was the wine, but the more she talked to the barman, the happier she felt. ‘I am so glad I met you tonight, Jake. I was beginning to think I was losing my mind.’
‘When, instead, we are probably the only two sane individuals in the room tonight.’
‘In the Upper West Side!’
‘In the whole of New York!’
Bea’s heart was racing. ‘People are so dead set on finding someone else to share their lives with. But they forget there are so many things you can do when you’re single that you can’t do when you’re in a relationship. Like assuming the sole use of the remote control.’
Jake chuckled. ‘Amen, sister. Or heading out for dinner on a whim without having to check schedules …’
‘Going to the cinema by yourself and eating all the popcorn – I love that.’
‘Or reading the Sunday paper all day without interruption.’
‘Only going shopping when you feel like it – and never having to feel guilty about dragging someone else along.’
‘Long baths on a weeknight listening to Lou Reed …’
‘Watching five episodes of a box-set in one go …’
‘Setting out from your apartment on a Saturday morning and wandering wherever you want to.’
‘I love that! I haven’t done that for years.’
‘Me either. Know what, Bea?’
‘What?’
‘We should start again.’
Bea smiled, despite the blush she knew was now spreading across her cheeks. ‘We should.’
‘Because we live in the best city on earth,’ Jake said. ‘Why wouldn’t we want to explore it?’
‘Exactly. I love this city.’ Bea turned to the stunning night view from the tall window. ‘Look at that: isn’t it the most amazing view?’
‘It is. There’s a big city out there, just waiting for us.’
‘And we’ve wasted too much time being trapped by someone else already.’
Jake nodded, an unmistakable fondness in his expression. Bea recognised it instantly because it was how she felt. ‘Gotta love this city.’
‘Absolutely.’ Her earlier consternation forgotten, Bea looked back at her surprise ally. ‘I’m really glad I met you this evening.’
‘Me too. It’s refreshing to find someone else who understands where I’m coming from.’
Jake offered the bottle to Bea, but she declined, enjoying the conversation far too much to be distracted by any more alcohol.
Snapping his fingers, Jake grinned at her. ‘Hey, you and I should make a pact.’
‘What kind of pact?’
An impish twinkle danced in his eyes. ‘That we will never get involved with anyone, ever again.’
A few days ago, this suggestion would have horrified Bea. But after all she had experienced tonight – and the enjoyable conversation she was having with the barman – Bea was keen to agree. ‘Absolutely. I’m done with relationships.’
‘OK, here it is: we solemnly swear that no matter what, we will avoid relationships. That we are through trying to find true love. From now on, it’s about us, celebrating the parts of our lives that work and not obsessing over those that don’t. We will be successful, happy, self-fulfilled individuals, who don’t place responsibility on anyone else for our happiness. Nobody writes the book of our lives but us.’
Bea loved that idea. So often in her life she had felt at the mercy of unseen scriptwriters who blindly dictated the ebb and flow of her happiness. The only author of Bea James’ life story should be herself. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘Then are you willing to agree to The Pact?’
She grinned at the audacity of it. ‘Yes, I am.’
He held out his little finger. ‘Then we must solemnly seal it. With a pinky shake.’
‘A what?’
He couldn’t hide his amusement. ‘Trust me. This is the only way.’
Giggling, Bea locked her little finger with his. ‘I hereby agree to The Pact.’
‘No more relationships for Jake and Bea.’
‘No more relationships for us.’
It was a beautiful moment: an unexpected gift of understanding between two people who barely knew each other. It felt deeper than the light-hearted banter of strangers and significant in a way that surprised them both. It was the end of a struggle and the beginning of a new chapter in their lives. And, with her finger locked with Jake’s, Bea suddenly didn’t feel alone any more …
Much later that evening, watching the lights of the city passing by the taxi window, Bea was lost in her thoughts. Celia and Stewart had waved her off, reasoning that her quietness was due to fatigue and maybe a little too much wine. Bea barely said two words as the cab pulled away, waving absent-mindedly as she tried to work out how she was feeling.
She should have felt elated by the twist the evening’s events had taken. She should have felt justified in her new decision to live life for herself. But beneath the glow of an evening unexpectedly well spent, a gaping hollowness refused to be filled by any of the above. Why did she feel like she’d missed something?
Should she have asked for his number? It would have been nice to have a friend in New York who didn’t have an ulterior motive for pairing her up with someone.
But then, Bea told herself, maybe Jake was being polite. He was serving at the bar at a private party, for goodness’ sake; it was his job to entertain the guests. She didn’t doubt that he had enjoyed talking to her, but what if that came from a longing to make his work shift pass more quickly? It was entirely possible. And why did it matter, anyway?
Of course it doesn’t matter, she told herself. It was a bad night made better by a barman with a crazy pact. One of Manhattan’s unexpected surprises. And it was over now.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_3208d7a3-d2cd-5fb1-bee5-266234a4d448)
Vacant office suite, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway (#ulink_3208d7a3-d2cd-5fb1-bee5-266234a4d448)
‘I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s a great property,’ the real estate agent nodded encouragingly at Jake. ‘Competitive rates, excellent square-footage, close proximity to the better business areas of the city and the scope for a wide catchment area for your practice.’
‘Great …’ Jake replied, but he wasn’t really listening. He was still smiling from the conversation he’d enjoyed last night. This pact idea had legs: and finding the right premises for his business was the perfect place to start.
‘But please, don’t take my word for it,’ the over-eager agent rushed, ‘let me show you around and I assure you the property will speak for itself.’
Jake followed the agent around the empty office space, barely noticing the freshly painted walls and brand new carpet at his feet. It was light and airy, in the right location and with more than enough scope for his practice to expand in time – but he had made all of these observations within minutes of arriving and now his brain could focus on other things. As the agent eulogised the benefits of the building, Jake’s thoughts returned again to last night.
Why didn’t I ask for her number?
He had seen her wave goodbye as a man he presumed was her brother hurried her out of the apartment, so at least he knew she hadn’t fled the moment she’d had the chance. But in the cold light of day, was her participation in their conversation little more than classic British politeness? She was alone at the party and so was he: she was also a little worse for wear from champagne and wine and he had drunk more bourbon than he’d intended. Was it simply a case of shared experience to get through an otherwise excruciatingly embarrassing event?
‘Dr Steinmann?’
Jake stared dumbly at the real estate agent. ‘What?’
‘I said, staff. Will you be having any?’
‘Yes. I’ll start recruiting as soon as I secure premises.’ The thought of finding an assistant even half as competent as the wonderful Pam Lomas he had left back in San Francisco filled Jake with dread. Pam had done everything for him bar actually counselling his clients. She knew what he would ask for almost before he thought to ask for it, ran the office like a well-oiled, military machine and was the kind of person you would happily entrust your life to in an emergency. There was nothing about his practice that Pam didn’t know. Would he ever find someone with her level of loyalty and commitment in a city where trading up to a better job was a constant goal?
‘Then you can do no better than choose McKevitt Buildings as your practice base,’ the agent beamed, proud of his closing argument.
Jake stared at the agent’s self-satisfied smile and wondered if he would ever feel as much pleasure in his New York practice as the weasel-like little man clearly did in his profession. ‘OK. Thank you, Mr …?’
‘Howell-Brown,’ the agent reminded him, thrusting another business card into his hand. ‘Eugene Howell-Brown. I’m sorry. Did I forget to mention it?’ The question was loaded with accusation and Jake momentarily regretted forgetting the agent’s name so easily.
He did his best to return to the matter at hand; thinking about last night coupled with his hangover wasn’t helping him this morning. ‘Forgive me; it’s been a busy morning. I like the office, so I’ll take it.’
Eugene Howell-Brown forgot his passive-aggressive consternation and instantly sprang into action. ‘Wonderful! You will not regret this decision, Dr Steinmann. Now all I need from you are a couple of signatures and I’ll arrange for you to have the keys …’
Out on the too-bright sidewalk outside, Jake paused to take a breath. He needed to focus, to work his way through the list of tasks he had assigned himself today. There were recruiters to meet, office furniture and décor to choose and a million and one other jobs to attend to. But right now, they could wait. Before any of it could happen, Jake needed coffee.
In the sanctuary of a warmly lit coffee house nearby, he ordered an enormous black coffee. As he found a table hidden from the hubbub of other customers, his phone rang.
‘You haven’t called me. And you said you would.’
Jake smiled as the soothing voice of his former PA warmed his ear. ‘What can I tell you, Pam? I’m a disgrace.’
‘I was worried about you. You knew I would be. So? How’s life in the City That Sneers At You?’
‘And New York sends its love right back at you.’
‘Be serious.’
‘It’s good. A little weird to be back, but I haven’t been ridden out of town yet.’ Jake took a long sip of coffee and closed his eyes. ‘Actually, I just signed the lease on a new office building.’
‘Where?’
‘Just off Broadway. Near the Lincoln Center. It’s a good space: I think you’d approve.’
Pam’s snort made Jake grin. It was no secret what she thought of the East Coast in general and Manhattan specifically. In her college days she had interned at a law firm in New York for two months while staying with her aunt and the experience had apparently traumatised her for life. She had often said that the only native New Yorker she had ever liked was Jake. Coming from a woman as set in her opinions as Pam, this was the ultimate compliment.
Jake decided to move to safer territory. ‘How’s the new job? Is your new employer as devastatingly handsome as I am?’
Now it was Pam’s turn to laugh. ‘He’s tidier. And pays me more. But no, he isn’t a patch on you. You’re very hard to replace, Dr Steinmann.’
‘Oh, if only that were true.’ He didn’t mean to say it out loud; but of all the people who could have heard it, Pam understood more than most.
‘Tell me she hasn’t—’
‘Afraid so. I’ve had the papers for a week.’
‘And you’re going to sign them?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t signed them yet. I will, I guess, just not yet.’
‘That woman doesn’t deserve you,’ Pam retorted. ‘I’m sorry, Jake, but you don’t pay my salary any more so I can say it. You’re better off without her. Sign the papers and get on with your life.’
Her forthrightness took Jake aback – in all the time they had worked together Pam had been very guarded in her comments on his private life, even though he often guessed what her opinions were. ‘You think?’
‘I do. In fact, I think it’s the only way. You talk to your clients about closure all the time: I’ve heard you. You can’t make her change her mind. But you can change your response to it.’
Jake laughed despite the sinking feeling Pam’s words caused. ‘Pam Lomas, are you psychoanalysing me?’
‘Maybe I am, Doctor. Maybe you need to hear it. Look, I can’t tell you what to do. I just care about you and I know you’re not happy. Ultimately it’s up to you how you move on. But you need to move on …’
When the call ended, Jake stared into the dark depths of his filter coffee. He hadn’t expected to hear it from his former employee, but Pam was right: he needed to take control of the situation. If only he’d reached this conclusion last night, when the possibility to take a new step had presented itself …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_967c0744-ac89-5d5d-b100-8af6c9696146)
Beads & Beans craft and coffee store, Brooklyn (#ulink_967c0744-ac89-5d5d-b100-8af6c9696146)
‘So, let me get this straight: you spent all night talking to a cute guy and you didn’t ask for his number?’
The look on Imelda Coulson’s face said it all. Bea groaned as her friend observed her from the top step of a rickety stepladder, a cluster of knitted clouds in her hand.
‘Of course I didn’t,’ Bea replied. ‘And I never said he was cute! It was just nice to meet somebody who understood my point of view.’
Imelda snorted and began to hang the clouds from small hooks in the ceiling. ‘A point of view that you’re hiding behind.’
‘I’m not hiding …’
‘Yes, you are. Admit it, honey: if Otis hadn’t stood you up that night you’d still be with him and you’d still be a firm believer in relationships.’
The mention of Otis made Bea wince. She might have succeeded in telling everyone else she didn’t miss him but she had a long way to go to convince herself. She didn’t want to feel this way. She wanted to feel as happy being single as she had spent many hours telling Russ, her parents and Imelda she was. But she had invested five years of her life in building something with Otis. It was unrealistic to think she could walk away from that unscathed.
‘That’s immaterial. Otis did stand me up and it was the last straw. He isn’t going to change and I’m not prepared to put my life on hold waiting for a miracle.’
‘But you’re still in love with him?’ Imelda pulled no punches and Bea was winded by the direct question.
‘Maybe I am. Or maybe it’s been slipping away from me for months, only I wasn’t prepared to notice.’ She sighed and moved to the side as Imelda descended the steps. ‘There’s no point trying to work that one out. I just want to focus on me for a change. Is that so wrong?’
Imelda’s expression softened and she put her hand on Bea’s shoulder. ‘Of course it’s not wrong. I just want you to be happy.’
‘So do I. That’s why I want to find out how to do that by myself.’
‘O-K …’ Imelda shrugged, about as satisfied with Bea’s answer as Bea was. ‘How’s Russ been?’
That was a good question. Russ had veered between insisting that all Bea needed was time to forgive his best friend and standing staunchly alongside her in her decision. At least he seemed to have finally got the message that Bea didn’t want to talk about it now, after a week of berating her at every opportunity. Bea was relieved to feel the pressure lessen: what she wanted now was to focus on the bookstore.
‘I think he knows not to push me on it.’
Imelda smiled as she sorted through a basket of knitted meteorological symbols for her window display. ‘The guy cares about you. In his own klutzy way. And I think he’s a little embarrassed about his friend. After all, if it wasn’t for Russ, you and Otis would never have met.’
A brief memory of the party where Russ had introduced Bea to his ‘legitimate single friend who most definitely isn’t gay’ flashed across Bea’s mind and she felt her stomach twist in response. Otis Greene had caught her attention immediately, with his velvet-smooth olive skin, dark eyes that seemed to call her closer and toned body visible beneath the contours of his well-cut shirt and jeans. When he smiled, it was as if a pause button had been pressed on the rest of the scene in the bar: suddenly it was just him and her, smiles spreading as their eyes drank in the sight of one another. Bea had fallen hard and fast for the handsome art dealer – a fact she could trace back to that first meeting – and that initial surge of emotion had carried her through years of not-so-perfect times.
She didn’t want to still love Otis. She wanted to push him and everything in her life connected to him into the Hudson River and walk away, never looking back. But Bea knew her own heart. That was why striking out on her own was so important.
‘I understand why Russ tried to get us back together. I do. He’s stuck between Otis and me and I don’t suppose it’s ever been a particularly comfortable position.’
‘Shame you didn’t ask for the barman’s number, then,’ Imelda winked, twirling a large knitted raindrop around her forefinger as she ascended the stepladder again. ‘Could have solved a lot of problems …’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway: we made a pact.’
‘Who did?’
‘Me and the barman. We’re swearing off relationships for good.’
Imelda groaned. ‘Bea …’
‘No, it made me feel better, Immi. I’ve wasted too much of my life chasing something that hasn’t happened. My life is worth more than that. It was good to find someone else in this city who sees it like I do.’
‘Trust you to find a cute guy who doesn’t want to date you,’ Imelda laughed. ‘Hey, I’m not making fun of you. If it makes you happy, go for it.’
‘I think it will make me happy.’
‘Good, then. Now, do you have time for coffee before Russ sends out a search party?’
Russ had practically bundled Bea out of the bookstore that morning, seeing how distracted she was by the events of the night before.
‘You’re no use this morning. Go for a walk or something.’
Bea had instinctively headed for Beads & Beans, the quirky craft and coffee shop owned by the third Musketeer to her and Russ. Imelda Coulson had been Bea’s firm friend for almost five years and was as unconventional as her business suggested.
Imelda’s store was a riot of colour, filled with every craft item imaginable. Rainbow skeins of embroidery silks and wool were packed next to roll after roll of beautiful ribbons and trims. Almost an entire wall was filled with tiny wooden drawers containing buttons, charms, quill papers, sequins and fastenings, each drawer front bearing a hand-painted sign. Next to the haberdashery supplies were thick bolts of brightly patterned fabrics – shimmering satins, cool cottons and thick, luxurious velvets. In the centre, tables and chairs were set out, each one painted in a different pastel shade and customers congregated here, indulging in crafts while enjoying coffee and cakes on hand-painted crockery.
Bea loved it here: the strong sense of creativity and fun mirrored the boundless positivity of the store’s proprietor. It was impossible not to smile when you were surrounded by so much colour and possibility. She had first met Imelda at a mutual friend’s Christmas party and they quickly struck up a friendship, Bea drawn to Imelda’s fiercely optimistic stance on everything. They had talked about owning their own businesses one day and Bea never doubted that Imelda would succeed in her ambition. Then, around the time Russ and Bea were looking for properties to set up their bookstore, Imelda’s wish had unexpectedly come to pass.
Suddenly made redundant from her job at a Wall Street bank, she had seen it as a sign to move her life forward and had opened the business she had long dreamed of, uniting her two loves of great coffee and crafts. Only in Brooklyn could this unlikely pairing have worked. Surrounded by unusual, artisanal shops and kitsch cafés, it was a perfect fit. Imelda hosted children’s parties at weekends and various groups of craft enthusiasts and local people interested in learning new skills during the week. Everybody else came in for coffee and the unique experience of sitting in a place alive with activity and fun.
‘So how long were you and the barman talking for?’
Bea shrugged. ‘An hour, maybe? I wasn’t exactly watching the time.’
Imelda peered over the rim of her oversized coffee cup. ‘Unusual to have a conversation that lasts a whole hour which doesn’t mean anything, don’t you think? Especially if you’re still thinking about it this morning. Just what did you talk about?’
Bea couldn’t hide her smile at the memory. ‘Everything and nothing. How much we loved New York, how embarrassing it was to be single at an engagement party filled with happy couples and …’ She trailed off as the pinky shake pact came to mind.
‘And what?’
‘And then he suggested The Pact. And it was the most perfect idea I’d heard in ages. So I agreed.’
Imelda’s expression didn’t flicker, leaving Bea in no doubt of her opinion. ‘So now you need to hope that your pact-buddy will be tending the bar at the next party you go to.’
Bea had to admit that it would be good to talk to the barman again. Their conversation about the benefits of singledom had been a lot of fun. ‘As if that’s likely to happen. Apart from in your head.’
Imelda grinned. ‘Hey, my head is a nice place to be, believe me. I’m just saying, honey, it’s possible that last night was an opportunity you were meant to take. And in my experience, if life wants you to take a certain road, you’ll end up coming back to it time and time again. My great-aunt Lavinia always says life is like the baggage carousel at the airport: if you don’t collect your case first time around it will keep passing you until you do.’
Bea wasn’t sure if Jake could be compared with a suitcase – or if Imelda’s batty great-aunt’s philosophy carried any grain of truth – but it made her smile nevertheless.
‘Excuse me, do you have air-drying clay?’ A customer peered over the counter.
‘We do,’ Imelda replied, casting a wink in Bea’s direction as she headed into the store to find it.
On her own again, Bea considered what her friend had suggested. Meeting Jake had been a fluke.
Hadn’t it?
The thought was still playing on her mind that evening when Bea finally arrived home from the bookstore. Feeling better after talking with Imelda, she had returned to Hudson River Books and thrown herself into work, much to Russ’ relief.
It was almost seven p.m. when she turned her key in the front door of her apartment, swinging the paper bag of Chinese food onto the breakfast bar before taking off her coat. The thought of what had happened last night and the possibility that it might be the start of a new chapter of her life intrigued her. Not that she thought for a minute that Jake had anything to do with her future. But the very fact that she had met somebody engaging and different when only days before she had been at her lowest ebb was enough to give her hope. Relationships might be a thing of the past for her, but at least New York had proved it still had the ability to surprise her. Perhaps if the luggage carousel of life was turning in her favour, a new friend might be on the way …
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ulink_183b3ff3-00d3-5ea9-b40c-cc5094404f2d)
Jake’s new office, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway (#ulink_183b3ff3-00d3-5ea9-b40c-cc5094404f2d)
Jake studied the long list of possible PA candidates in his notebook, acutely aware of how long this day was going to be. In the week following Rosie and Ed’s engagement party he had been making a determined effort to focus on practical matters, with an impressive rate of success. All around him, plastic-wrapped office furniture, still-boxed computers and a rather impressive counselling couch were testament to his recent activities. He had already confirmed details of the final design with his interior decorator and the team of painters would begin work in two days, leaving him this window of time to recruit new staff for the practice.
But there was where the problem lay: the search for a suitable replacement for Pam was proving tricky. The recruitment consultant Jake had contracted from a prestigious Manhattan personnel agency had assured him that all the shortlisted candidates were amply qualified. According to the CVs laid out on his new desk, the excellent SAT scores, Ivy League degrees and proven aptitude for clinical administration promised great things. But so far this morning, Jake had been faced with a seemingly never-ending stream of humourless, ambitious airheads bearing no resemblance to the ideal-on-paper candidates whatsoever.
‘My inspiration is Kim Kardashian,’ one candidate had earnestly informed him, ‘because of her business acumen.’ She had emphasised the words as if to add gravitas to her argument. Jake, his smile as steady as he could keep it, had nodded knowingly as he carefully drew a definite line through her name.
Another woman had blatantly misread the job description before applying for the post and was most surprised to learn that a psychiatrist did a vastly different job to a psychic. Yet another laughed when Jake asked whether she enjoyed the challenge of office administration, answering: ‘Are you nuts? It’s like dying slowly on your feet. I just need a job until my agent finds me the right movie …’
How was it possible for so many supposedly well-educated young women to be so devoid of personality, common sense or intellect? Jake strongly suspected the recruiter’s mention that the prospective client was a newly single young doctor with expensive Manhattan offices might have had more to do with the interviewees’ enthusiasm to apply for the job than their natural aptitude.
‘Why do you want to work at this practice?’ he asked the latest candidate, a softly spoken twenty-something who had listed Friedrich Nietzsche as one of her major life influences on her résumé but, when pressed, couldn’t recall any of his theories.
‘I think working for you could meet my career aspirations.’
‘Which are …?’
‘To progress my career in an interesting and challenging environment.’
Jake suppressed a sigh. ‘Listen, Madison, forget the accepted interview responses and just talk to me. I want to know about you as a person: what interests do you have? What beliefs do you live by? What makes Madison Montgomery who she is?’
Madison blinked. ‘Working here?’
Switching into analyst mode, Jake leaned towards her and softened his voice. ‘Apart from that. I’m curious as to why you applied for this position. What excites you about working in a psychiatry practice? Do you have an interest in the field? I notice in your résumé that you mention several philosophers as key influences on your life ’
Madison was having a hard time disguising the growing panic in her eyes. After a few excruciatingly long moments of silence, she sighed. ‘I just need a job, OK? I can organise an office and your diary. I can field calls, prioritise tasks and act as a point of first contact between you and your patients – sorry, clients. But beyond that, I don’t care whether you are a doctor of psychiatry or a CEO of a Dow Jones listed company.’
And there it is, Jake congratulated himself for seeing this coming the moment Madison entered the room. ‘Great. Thank you for your honesty. I’ll be in touch.’ He watched her leave the room without so much as a parting thank you and sank back into his brand new office chair. Maybe the recruiter he had chosen was wrong for the task. He knew there were bright, intelligent candidates in New York. So how come none of them wanted to work for him?
The list of names was nearing the halfway mark now. That was something. He checked his watch and stood, wandering over to the window overlooking Broadway where a flurry of yellow cabs was backed up in early afternoon traffic. The Lincoln Center was draped in huge banners advertising the New York Ballet’s upcoming season. A lone dancer appeared to be jumping across the grey concrete expanse of the building and the undulating ripples in the banner’s length gave the impression that she was flying. It was an intensely positive image that Jake instantly liked, as if the dancer represented the creative, driven spirit of the city thriving in its hard landscape. He smiled. There was a good reason he had chosen to return to New York. It would be tough, but he was tough. Growing up here had woven stubborn drive into his DNA and that counted for a lot. It would get him through his divorce; spur him on to find success in his new practice; and then, who knew?
Three hours later, any vestige of enthusiasm Jake had for appointing a new PA had evaporated like the steam rising from Broadway drains in the early evening air. Nothing – not even someone he could train to love the job. He’d had three offers of telephone numbers, a crash course in how not to write a résumé and several hours’ experience of identical stock answers, but nobody had even come close. In frustration he had dismissed the final eight candidates, who vacated the premises with little more than resigned disinterest. Were his standards too high? He half-wondered if the problems stemmed from a subconscious need to sabotage his new business before it had begun. Without a decent PA, how could he hope to offer the level of service his San Franciscan clients had enjoyed? Tired and irritated, he dismissed the thought. If he was going to end the day without his first employee it wasn’t for lack of trying.
This was getting him nowhere. He decided he would call it a day and go and find somewhere to eat, his empty stomach not helping his mood at all today. He screwed up the unsuccessful candidate list, tossed it in the wire waste paper basket and prepared to leave.
‘Am I late?’
Jake turned to see a smartly dressed black woman standing in the doorway. She made direct eye contact with him as she waited for his reply. That was a first today …
‘Uh – no … Please come in.’
‘The agency gave me the wrong address,’ she stated, offering her hand. ‘Desiree Jackson.’
‘I’m Jake Steinmann. Dr Jake Steinmann.’
‘Good to meet you. Finally. I swear the personnel agency is staffed by high school kids.’ She pulled a chair from the line that Jake had set around the wall of the reception area and settled opposite Jake, who sat quickly in the leather chair behind the desk. ‘I doubt very much you have my résumé, if their sense of direction indicates anything.’ She opened a leather document case and handed him a couple of neatly stapled pages. ‘Here.’
Jake accepted it, his mind whirring. She had taken a chair from the line. Without waiting to be asked to sit It was a small detail, but it showed initiative. And, having been denied anything to be impressed by all day, Jake was taken aback by this. He skimmed over the details on her résumé, but there was something about the confident woman’s attitude that made him like her immensely from the outset.
‘You’ll see from my employment history that I had a break of two years to raise my son,’ Desiree continued. ‘During that time I raised him alone, working nights preparing accounts and paperwork for friends. For the last year I have worked at a law firm on the Lower East Side.’
‘And your reason for leaving?’ Jake asked, trying to regain the initiative in this conversation.
Desiree nodded at her résumé. ‘It’s all there. They’re downsizing. Which, translated, means they’re letting me go.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Don’t be. I walked out and I won’t be looking back.’
I really like you, Jake thought, his spirits beginning to lift. ‘I see. What attracted you to this position?’ Please don’t say ‘because it’s a job’ …
‘The mind is fascinating. What makes people act the way they do; why they make the choices they make. I know a little about psychology. Mostly serial killers.’ She smiled when she saw Jake’s surprise. ‘I like real-life police cases. My kid thinks I’m crazy. But I want to know what turns a regular person into a killer.’
Jake coughed to disguise his laugh. ‘Well, I have to tell you we do very little work with psychopaths here. Most of my clients will be dealing with wrong attitudes and learned behaviours, perhaps stemming from trauma in early childhood. The FBI rarely asks for my assistance.’
Desiree shrugged. ‘It’s all from the same place, isn’t it? The mind.’
If you don’t want this job I will beg you to take it …
‘I guess it is. Did the agency brief you on the required duties of the job?’
‘They mentioned you were a young, single doctor,’ she answered, grinning at Jake’s groan. ‘Beyond that, I kinda figured out what you’d need.’
Jake could believe that. Desiree Jackson was a breath of fresh air, her chutzpah and no-nonsense attitude exactly what Jake was looking for. It was as if Pam had sent her especially for this new role and Jake would be crazy if he didn’t appoint her immediately.
‘Then I only have one more question: when can you start?’
Desiree smiled broadly. ‘Right now, if you want.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#ulink_0c178083-03e6-51dd-b92b-625d161bad59)
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn (#ulink_0c178083-03e6-51dd-b92b-625d161bad59)
The day of Celia’s book launch arrived, sending Bea and Russ into a frenzy of activity. While Bea had laid much of the groundwork for the evening already, there was a list of things yet to be sorted that had grown rather than shrunk all week. Finally, with less than an hour until the event, Bea emerged from her makeshift dressing room in the bookstore office, smoothing down the skirt of her new aubergine velvet dress.
‘Will I do?’ she asked Russ.
Russ did a Muppet-style double take and dropped the pile of books he was carrying. ‘Wow.’
Suddenly self-conscious, Bea put her hand to her hair where a vintage slide was uncomfortably placed. ‘Stop it.’
Russ chuckled as he bent down to collect the books. ‘You look good. Stop worrying.’
‘I’m not worrying, I just wanted look the part.’
‘Well, you do.’
‘Are you getting changed?’
Russ looked down at his faded red and white striped T-shirt, skinny jeans and red Converse trainers. ‘I am changed.’
‘Russ!’ Frustration rising, Bea glared at him. ‘This is one of the most important events we’ve ever hosted. We need to make a good impression …’
Knowing argument was futile, Russ dropped the pile of books on the counter and headed towards the office. ‘OK, I get it! If you can’t handle my über-cool look, I’ll change it. But it’s your issue, remember, not mine.’
Bea ignored his parting shot and set about arranging Celia’s books on the table she had decorated for the book signing. She and Russ had been dancing on the edge of an argument all day, neither one finding the pressure particularly easy to handle. At times like these, they both knew it was best to discount anything the other said and certainly never take any of it to heart. From final exams at Columbia University to establishing Hudson River Books, this approach had paid dividends over the years. Today was no different, Bea reminded herself, tempted as she was to hit back at her best friend.
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