Fairytale of New York (11 page)

The question was so deftly inserted into her conversation that I almost missed it. ‘Jerry? He
called
you?’

Celia gave a fatalistic shrug and took a mouthful of winepoached salmon. ‘Eleven months he’s been gone and then today I get a call.’

Celia and Jerry have been partners for well over fourteen years and were, it seemed, blissfully unaffected by each other for all of that time. She went on her assignments, he went on his business trips. They spent three weeks together every summer at their beach house in Martha’s Vineyard, and New Year with his family in Wisconsin. They were a typical highachieving New York couple. Until eleven months ago. Jerry announced he was ‘off to find himself’, packed a suitcase and disappeared. His company didn’t know where he was. His friends didn’t know where he was. Even his mother didn’t know where he was: which was incredibly worrying, as Jerry’s mother is the domestic equivalent of the FBI. Her powers of investigation are unsurpassed and could prove invaluable to the State one day, should it ever need to know exactly, in minute detail, about an individual (eating habits, connections, rumours, bowel movements and so on). I’m convinced she has a vast, underground network of spies, who regularly feed back to her at apparently innocent locations. Come to think of it, she hosts an awful lot of dinner parties and is forever on the phone, so maybe ‘Yes, Rabbi, you’re invited to dinner Wednesday at eight’,
actually
means ‘Thank you, Agent 482, your information has been received and you will be rewarded well.’

It was unclear whether Jerry’s disappearance was a life-changing,
traumatic experience for Celia or just an annoyance. She rarely even mentioned his name and I knew she had been on more than one date recently. Even now, as I faced her across the table, I couldn’t detect any kind of emotion in her measured expression. Except, perhaps, resignation.

‘So how did he seem? What did he say?’ I asked.

Celia shrugged again and looked over my shoulder. ‘That he’s sorry. That he’s in Palm Springs and the golf is good. That he wants me to forgive him.’

‘But he’s not coming home?’ I asked, trying to judge her countenance, which flickered slightly.

She nodded.

‘Oh, Celia…’

She held up a hand and looked me square in the eyes. ‘It’s fine, Rosie. Honestly, I’m fine. He can go—no, he’s welcome to go. I’m amazed we lasted as long as we did. We never married—what can I say? Such is life. There isn’t anyone else, though. And I don’t think I’d care if there was. Besides,’ she added, her wry smile making a welcome comeback, ‘I hear
toy boys
are all the rage for women over forty now. So maybe I’ll get me one of those.
Maybe
I’ll give Nate Amie a call…’ her eyes twinkled naughtily, ‘…unless you have any objections, that is?’

It was obvious that the Jerry topic was now closed, so I played along, glaring at her. ‘I don’t object at all. But Caitlin Sutton might have something to say about it.’

‘Aha!’ Celia’s face was a picture of triumph. I had obviously fallen for her bait. ‘Not if what I heard today is anything like the truth.’

I leaned forward, curious to hear more. ‘So, tell me, then. What did you hear?’

Celia looked shocked. ‘Rosie Duncan, I do believe you are enquiring about a
man
!’

I protested. ‘Only out of sheer curiosity and the need for a bit of juicy gossip.’

‘Like I believe
that
…Well, I was talking to Brent Jacobs this morning, and he told me—ooh, and make sure you don’t forget he’s—’

‘Coming to my shop tomorrow morning, yes, I know. What about Nate?’

‘Patience, Rosie! I’m coming to that,’ Celia stated, delighting in my suspense. ‘He told me he was at a theatre premiere at the Lincoln Center yesterday and he saw Mimi, Nate and Caitlin. Right in the middle of the performance, Caitlin stormed out. And Nate didn’t follow her. Then Mimi received a call at the after-show party and had a
blazing row
with Nate, in front of everyone. He called his driver and left, and Mimi was heard to say that he had not heard the last from her on the subject. She was in such a foul mood that she totally ruined the party and most people left as soon as she did.’

I was still interested. ‘And…?’

Celia sat back. ‘That was it.’

Disappointment is always a difficult thing to hide. ‘Oh…What was Brent’s take on things?’

Celia took a sip of Pinot Gris. ‘He was as much in the dark as everyone else. But his theory is that Caitlin and Mimi have been pressing for marriage and Nate won’t play ball.’

‘So, does this mean he won’t be ordering those large and frequent bouquets from me, after all, then?’ I moaned with a smile.

‘Well, Brent reckons he’ll—’ she was interrupted by the waiter, who informed her she had a phone call. ‘Excuse me one second, Rosie. I’ll be right back.’

I refilled my glass and sat back in my chair to look out at the driving rain and wildly swinging fairy lights. Why I found
this information interesting, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint. After all, I didn’t really know Nate Amie. Only that he had a laugh that could fill an atrium and knew nothing about lavender. Yet somehow I found myself intrigued that his name had cropped up in conversation so often this past week.

Celia returned about five minutes later, shaking her head. ‘Can you
believe
that?’ she asked. ‘I leave them alone for five minutes and all hell breaks out.’ She saw my mystified face and took a breath. ‘Sorry, honey. I’ve got my sister’s twins over for a few days. Didn’t I tell you? Well, I have. They’re on vacation from Washington State and wanted to see New York. It appears they decided to throw a party while I was out and have played music so loud that my good neighbours called 911. I need to go sort it out. I’m sorry, sweetie. Call you tomorrow?’ She grabbed her bag, kissed me and hurried away to her engagement with New York’s finest.

The waiter approached. ‘Will madam be ordering dessert?’ he asked.

‘No, no, thank you. I’ll settle up, if I may.’

‘Sure. No problem.’ He disappeared again. I finished my wine and took a last look out at the windswept Hudson. For the briefest of seconds, my mind flashed up an image of a lopsided grin and a soft, low voice. Surprised, I checked myself and rose to leave.

As I stepped outside into the icy rain, I wrapped my coat tightly round my body and began the short walk home. The wind whipped at my hair and New York seemed to be asking me the same questions that already filled my mind, despite my desire to avoid the subject.

It was an unusual relief to click the key into the front door of my block and jog the three flights up to my apartment. Once inside, I closed the door and leaned against the frame,
breathing in the familiar scent and willing my heart to slow down. I was removing my coat when the intercom beeped. I jumped.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, sis. Aren’t you going to let your big bruv in?’ chirped a familiar voice.

‘James!’ I squealed. ‘Come on up!’

I pressed the door release button and within a minute my brother walked in. It’s funny that I’m always shocked at how tall he is whenever I see him. He looked tired, but thrilled that he had surprised me by arriving with no warning. He dropped his heavy leather bag on the floor, scooped me up and spun me round.

‘Rosie! It’s so great to see you,’ he yelled. ‘Are you surprised?’

‘Too right I’m surprised!’ He plonked me down and I hugged him again. ‘I can’t believe you’re here! Mum said you’d be too busy to visit.’

James grinned, nut-brown eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘I
swore
Mum to secrecy. I wanted to surprise you. Can I stay?’

‘Sure, no problem. I’ll have to make up the couch for you. Is that OK?’

‘Perfect,’ James said, dropping into the nearest chair. ‘I’m so tired I’ll sleep anywhere. I’m not proud, y’know.’

‘Good job my couch is an incredibly comfy sofa bed, then,’ I replied, going into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘Tea?’

‘How about Yorkshire Tea?’ James asked, appearing by my side and brandishing a box. ‘I’ve got you some Marmite too. And Dairy Milk.’

I let out another squeal. I don’t miss many things from home, but these gifts are like the Holy Grail for me. ‘Thank you so much!’ I yelped, ripping open the tea box and dropping two bags into the pot. I poured the boiling water and
savoured the long-missed aroma as the tea began to infuse.
‘Heaven,’
I breathed.

‘How long are you staying?’ I asked, once the tea was made and we had sunk down into the sofa with our mugs of steaming nectar.

James looked offended. ‘You want me to leave already?’ he laughed. ‘I’m kidding, Rosie. I can only stay till Saturday morning, I’m afraid. Then I need to be back at the DC office for four days, before I fly home again. Look, are you sure it’s OK to stay with you? I could book into the Four Seasons, if not.’

‘Why on earth would you want to stay at one of the best New York hotels when you can rough it here with me?’ I asked.

James smiled. ‘I’d much rather be with my darling little sis than in a swanky place like that.
You
provide decent breakfasts. And your prices are unbeatable.’

‘Undoubtedly,’ I laughed. ‘Now, can I interest you in room service, sir?’

A quizzical expression spread across his face. ‘What’s on the menu?’

‘Well, we have a rather special tub of cookie-dough ice cream—it’s a house speciality. Might I interest sir in a small helping?’

‘Absolutely. But make it a large one, please, I’m starving!’ James cried, clutching his stomach in mock agony. As I struggled to release myself from the sumptuous embrace of my sofa, my brother grabbed my hand and genuine affection filled his eyes. ‘It’s so good to be here, Rosie. Thank you.’

As a younger sister I have learned to be wary when my brother is being sentimental. These fleeting glimpses of affection usually occur when James is in trouble and needs me to bail him out. Later, once he was settled on my couch and I was in bed, I found myself wondering if this was to be another
of those occasions. Quickly, my optimism gene sprang into action and I decided that this might actually be a time when my gut reaction was wrong. Self-centred though he may be, surely even James was capable of conveying real, heartfelt emotion sometimes.

Wasn’t he?

‘What are you doing this evening?’ James asked, next morning, as we sat eating breakfast.

I thought for a moment. ‘Nothing. Why?’

He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’d just like to do something nice for my darling little sister, that’s all.’

He’s in trouble, I told you,
said a little voice in my brain.

I ignored it and smiled at him. ‘What sort of nice, exactly?’

James winked. ‘Rosie, you’re always so suspicious. Just make sure you’ve got something posh to wear, OK, because I’ve got reservations at somewhere rather special tonight. And
I’m
paying.’

I frowned. ‘If you’ve already made reservations, why did you bother asking me if I was free tonight?’

James surrendered. ‘Curses, rumbled again…OK, OK, I checked your diary while you were making the tea last night and I called the restaurant when you went to get the ice cream.’

‘OK.’ The explanation would suffice. For now.

ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?
demanded my conscience, stamping its foot.
He is in big, big trouble and you’re going to get involved in it. Again. You don’t need this!
I let out a breath and mentally pushed the voice into a corner.

‘Is everything OK?’ asked James, seeing my expression.

I smiled. ‘Everything’s fine.’

Marnie was waiting for me as I arrived to open up the shop. She sat slumped against the windowledge looking like she’d lost a million dollars and found a nickel. Even considering her rollercoaster of a love life, it was extremely unusual to see her like this.

‘Hi, Marnie. How are you?’

She stood up as the shutter lifted and we walked inside. ‘I’m good.’

‘You’re obviously not,’ I said, switching on the lights and taking off my coat. Marnie followed me into the workroom and hung her coat up next to mine. ‘Want to talk about it?’

Her eyes blinked quickly as tears welled up. ‘Please. But I don’t know if you can help.’

I smiled. ‘Let me try. How about you sit down and I’ll fire up Old F? And,’ I added, reaching into my bag and producing a warm M&H Bakers bag, ‘I took the liberty of getting some of Luigi’s double choc-chip cookies this morning, so you can help me with their disposal.’

Marnie’s eyes lit up and she threw her arms round me. ‘Thanks, Rosie. You’re a good friend.’

Once Old F had noisily produced a jug of rich, smoky coffee, I joined Marnie on the well-worn brown leather sofa by the window. This is another long-serving fixture at Kowalski’s and, I now realised as I sat down, yet another secret weapon in our struggle against Philippe. When customers are deliberating designs it is so much more civilised to seat them in a comfy corner, surround them with flowers and let them enjoy the fruits of Old F’s hard labour. Ed and I rescued the sofa from a closing-down coffee house not long after I took over from
Mr K, and I still have fond memories of Ed risking life and limb to stop the traffic on West 68th Street as I tried to push it across the road. Marnie certainly seemed to be responding to its comfort as I sat down next to her.

‘OK, Rosie. Here’s the deal,’ she began, nibbling a cookie. ‘I’ve met this guy at my community theatre. His name is Mack, he’s from Brooklyn but now he lives in East Village and he’s twenty-two years older than me. He lectures English at Columbus University and he’s one of the Hudson River Players’ directors. He’s
so amazing,
Rosie. You know, it’s like everything he says is worthy of recognition? I’m totally in awe of him.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ I asked.

Marnie sighed and looked into her coffee. ‘He doesn’t even notice me. I overheard him saying to one of the others that he’s just come out of a long, lonely marriage and he’s got his eye on someone in the class. I kinda hoped it would be me, you know?’

‘How do you know it isn’t?’ I asked.

‘That’s just it. I
don’t
know,’ Marnie wailed. ‘I haven’t slept for a whole week. I can’t get him out of my mind. How do I approach him? What do I say?’

‘I’m not sure you’re asking the right person,’ I smiled. ‘After all, I’m not the world’s greatest authority on relationships…’ I looked at Marnie. She wore a smile, but it was weak and transparent. It was time for a different tack. ‘Um, OK…Why don’t you invite him out for a drink after class? Say you’d like to get to know him a little better. Or…tell him about your work here and invite him over to see your latest project? Just try to be his friend for a while and see what happens.’

Marnie looked up at me. ‘But what if he’s repulsed by the sight of me?’

I patted her hand. ‘Not possible, mate. You’re gorgeous.
Concentrate on becoming his friend. Look at it this way: if he likes you, you’ll have opened the door for something to begin; if he doesn’t, well, then you’ll have gained a friend you already respect. You win either way. OK?’

‘OK,’ Marnie said, still uncertain but brightening slowly. She hugged me again. ‘Thanks, Rosie, I’ll try.’

The bell on the front door chimed as Ed arrived. ‘Ugh!’ he exclaimed, covering his eyes with his copy of the
New York Observer.
‘Female bonding alert! Get me out of here…I need air…’ The paper was whipped away, revealing an eager smile. ‘No, wait—tell me
all
the juicy details.’

Marnie and I stood up. ‘None to tell,’ Marnie said, walking past him aloofly.

‘Great,’ Ed moaned. ‘As usual I’m discriminated against purely because I have no womb.’

‘Ooh, Ed with a womb—now there’s a scary thought…’ I began.

‘Hey, I’d be great with a womb,’ Ed protested, following me over to the counter. ‘I pride myself on being fashionably in touch with my feminine side. Despite the fact that it’s obvious to anyone I’m an undeniably awesome hunk of manhood.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Marnie laughed. ‘Name your feminine attributes then.’

‘I understand flowers,’ he replied proudly. ‘I eat chocolate when I’m depressed. I’m not averse to a good bit of gossip every once in a while. So spill the details, sisters!’

Marnie and I exchanged looks. ‘Should we be worried?’ I asked.

Marnie giggled. ‘Does he have a weekend name?’

Ed looked mystified. ‘A weekend name?’

‘Oh, you know—“At weekends my name is Janice.”’

The look on Ed’s face was worthy of exhibition at the
Guggenheim. ‘The only name I answer to at weekends is Mr Highly Desirable,’ he answered haughtily, as Marnie and I collapsed in hysterical laughter. ‘Oh, yeah, go ahead. Laugh. But I’ll have you know I turned down two—that’s
two
—offers of dinner for tonight from a couple of very lovely ladies who are impatient to date me. Because tonight, my friends, I am going to a Broadway show with a certain lady by the name of
Yelena Ivanova.
’

His careful emphasis was wasted on Marnie and me. Our blank expressions revealed that we had absolutely no idea who this was.

He groaned. ‘Yelena Ivanova—
you know—
“The Face of Jean St Pierre”?’

‘The model?’ Marnie asked incredulously. ‘How did that happen?’

Ed smiled. ‘She’s going out with my best friend, Steve, who’s a photographer for several big fashion houses. He got called away to a shoot in Hawaii but he was supposed to be taking Yelena to see Kevin Spacey’s latest play on Broadway tonight. So there was a spare ticket. So I offered to step in.’

I grinned. ‘Ah, Ed Steinmann, Kowalski’s resident chivalrous knight in shining armour.’

Ed shot me a sly smile. ‘That’s
Sir
Ed Steinmann to you, peasant! Although, maybe not so chivalrous. See, I heard Yelena’s on the verge of breaking up with Steve so I’m hoping to catch her on the rebound.’

‘What?’ Marnie exclaimed. ‘Ed, you’re
awful
!’

‘I know,’ he said happily, disappearing into the workroom, ‘but that’s why you love me.’

The morning continued with more calls and customers than on a usual Thursday. Kowalski’s was obviously still benefiting from the Mimi Sutton Effect.

At eleven the door opened and Brent Jacobs strolled in. His extra-wide smile appeared as soon as he saw me.

‘Rosie! Hi! Hope I’m not too late?’

‘No,’ I reassured him, ‘you’re right on time. Welcome to Kowalski’s.’

‘Do I smell coffee?’ Brent beamed, his eyes wide and innocent as a child attempting to win sweets with charm.

‘You most certainly do. Milk and sugar?’

‘Black with two, thanks.’ A sudden sheepish look temporarily usurped the grin. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Not at all.’ I smiled, handing him a hand-painted blue and white mug bearing the store’s name.

‘Cute mugs. You do these yourself?’

I laughed. ‘No, my friend Lucy has a ceramics store in West Village and she made them for me.’

We sat down on the sofa and I presented my design books for Brent to view. After much discussion, he decided on a large hand-tied bouquet of yellow and cream roses, lilies and gladioli, accompanied by dark green foliage, eucalyptus and rosemary sprigs. Yellow was, I discovered, his wife’s favourite colour and the hue of her bridesmaid’s dresses on their wedding day. Rosemary was her middle name and the name Brent called her when nobody else was listening. On their honeymoon they had visited his relatives in Australia and had been taken to see koalas munching eucalyptus in a local nature reserve…I filled out the order form and arranged delivery for the following morning at ten thirty.

‘Have you spoken to Celia recently?’ Brent asked.

‘Yes, I saw her last night,’ I replied, not looking up from the counter.

‘Did you hear about Jerry?’

I stopped writing and looked at him. ‘Yes—how did you…?’

‘I heard. Word gets around. My wife works for his old company. How did Celia seem to you last night?’

I decided to be noncommittal. ‘Like her usual self, I guess. Maybe a bit quieter.’

Brent’s concern remained etched across his face. ‘Hmm. I care about her, Rosie. And I don’t think she’s coping as well as she shouts out to the world.’

My discomfort was increasing. ‘Brent, maybe you should talk about this with Celia, not me. I’m not sure how much of her situation she wants others to know.’

Brent smiled his reassurance. ‘Listen, kid, Celia and I go back a long, long way. You needn’t worry. If you speak to her again before I do, just tell her that Old Bee Jay is still there for her, OK? She’ll know what I mean.’

Still in the dark, I smiled. ‘Fine, I’ll do that.’ I handed Brent his copy of the order.

‘Thanks. So, did you hear what I saw at the Lincoln Center, Tuesday night?’

My interest level jumped up a few thousand notches. ‘Celia told me. Have you heard any more?’

‘Ah, we’re always ready for gossip here,’ quipped Ed as he walked past with an armful of roses. ‘Who’s the object of rumour today?’

Brent grinned. ‘A certain young man who was
very impressed
with Ms Duncan a couple of weeks back at Celia’s soiree.’

Ed raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Oh? You didn’t tell me about
that,
Rosie.’

My heart had begun a bid for an Olympic sprint record and I tried to change the subject. ‘Ed, have you phoned Patrick’s with our order for the weekend yet?’

‘Did it earlier.’

‘Good…um…then isn’t there something you should be getting on with
out back
?’

Ed leaned against the counter, obviously revelling in my discomfort. ‘You know, as a matter of fact I’m just taking a break. So I have a moment to listen to any extremely interesting information Mr Jacobs cares to share.
So,
this young man…?’

Brent could see my embarrassment rising and honourably declined to conspire against me. Gossip thus denied for the second time that morning, Ed groaned and returned to his work.

As he was leaving, Brent inclined towards me and whispered, ‘Rosie, right now I’m working on further details. But let’s just say Nate isn’t as in love as
certain journalists
would have you believe.’

He said his goodbyes and left the store.

Brent’s last comment buzzed around my head all through lunchtime and well into the afternoon. Which was annoying and intriguing in equal parts.

At two o’clock Marnie left early for her art class and I joined Ed in the workroom to begin an order due to be delivered at close of business. Any illusions I may have had of Ed forgetting about Brent’s comment dissipated like steam from Manhattan drains when I saw the tell-tale sparkle in his eyes. Mr Steinmann was determined to have his fun and nobody would stop him.

‘Nice guy, that Brent.’

I drew up one of the wooden stools around the workbench and started stripping leaves from a carnation stem. ‘Yes, he is. I told you that you’d like him.’

‘Great guy. Very observant.’ He pulled a length of ribbon from a spool on the bench and began looping it skilfully into
a bow. ‘Especially when it comes to certain guests at Celia’s events.’ He lifted his gaze and winked at me.

I shook my head, adding vivid orange lilies to the cream carnations and greenery held in my left hand. Much as I didn’t want to rise to the bait, I had to concede that the subject was unavoidable. ‘So, ask me.’

His eyes returned nonchalantly to the Cellophane he was arranging around the large bouquet before him. ‘Ask you what?’

I let out a long groan. ‘About the guy? He’s nobody, Ed, really. Celia’s been stirring again, that’s all.’

‘I see. Sure, OK…So, this Mr Nobody…is he a
special
Nobody?’

‘What? No! He’s just a guy I met at the Authors’ Meet the other week. He seems perfectly nice, I suppose. I’ve only spoken to him twice, so I don’t know any more.’

‘Twice, huh?’ If Ed’s eyebrow got any higher, NASA could send an astronaut up with it.

At that moment, however, someone came into the store. Relief spread from my head to my toes.
Saved by the bell. Thank you, God.
I breezed past Ed on my way to the shop floor. ‘Sorry, Ed, there’s a customer—I’d better go…’

Ed growled in defeat as I left.

‘Good afternoon, welcome to Kowalski’s,’ I chirped happily.

The new customer was inspecting one of our large displays by the door. When he heard me, he spun round. ‘Hi.’

I froze. ‘Hi,’ I responded weakly.

Nate Amie grinned as he approached me. ‘Your store is cool,’ he said, offering his hand.