Fairytale of New York (29 page)

‘Oh my life…’

‘Yes,
I know
! Two days ago, she called me. She was inconsolable and said she needed my advice. It turns out that a few days ago Senator Darnek’s secretary was taken ill, so Sandi was drafted in to cover. Elizabeth Darnek called to speak to her husband and, by all accounts, was incredibly rude to the poor girl. So Sandi panicked and accidentally hit the memo function on the intercom when she was transferring the call. Turns out she inadvertently recorded a
crucial
conversation between the Darneks.’

‘Why crucial?’

‘Elizabeth Darnek talked about James—about how
she
had ensnared
him
—and it was clear from the conversation that John Darnek was well aware of the situation. Even more than that, they talked at some length about their intention to use
the affair to bribe both James and his company, insisting significant funds were surrendered in return for the Darneks’ silence. Well, Sandi was terrified when she realised her error, but she didn’t know what to do.’

My head was abuzz with the news. ‘How does this help James, though?’

Celia smiled. ‘I’m getting to that. You see, it’s fortuitous that Sandi chose to call me: I mean, I’ve known her since she was a little girl, but there are countless others she could’ve chosen. It just so happens that I know Thom Michaels, Head of Internal Comms at the Senate Office. I knew that the recorded memo would still be on the secretary’s phone—the code to access the memo messages is only held by Darnek’s secretary and
one other person
…’

A light was dawning in my mind. ‘Thom Michaels?’

‘Exactly! So, I called him.’

‘But couldn’t you have got in trouble for having that information?’

Celia threw her head back and laughed. ‘Probably, had it been anyone else. But Thom and I…well, we go
way
back. And I happened to know that there is
no
love lost between Thom Michaels and John Darnek. He was
most
interested to hear of the—um—
intercom malfunction,
shall we say?’

‘So what’s happened since?’

‘Thom called me this morning to say that he’d handed it to the Senior Prosecutor, who’s very kindly made the contents of the call public.
Very
public.’

Celia wasn’t kidding. Within hours of her visit, the story was everywhere, the news channels dominated by increasingly lurid details of previously hidden misdemeanours by the Senator and his wife. Such was the backlash against them that James’s involvement paled into relative obscurity,
as the full force of the media spotlight fell squarely on the Darneks.

James returned to London, where he was quietly ‘released’ from his contract with FRS—together with a sizeable sum to help ease the transition. Proving my theory that he has more lives than a very lucky cat, James quickly found a new line of business—providing media advice to high-profile people, of all things—and, predictably, regained his prosperity soon after.

I told James that it was Celia who had been responsible for saving his sorry hide. He couldn’t believe it, especially given their track record of mutual dislike, but nevertheless he was a changed man by the experience. Celia received a typically ostentatious and ridiculously expensive bouquet of flowers (not from my store, of course—I have a suspicion that a certain Mr Devereau’s establishment may have had the dubious honour of my brother’s patronage), but I had the distinct feeling that this uneasy truce wouldn’t last long between them.

As February ended, preparations for the Lithgow wedding began in earnest. It was agreed that the whole team would work to complete the larger items for delivery the day before the wedding, with Ed and I booking rooms in a nearby hotel so we could complete the bridal bouquets, buttonholes and last few small arrangements overnight, to ensure their freshness on the day.

A week before the event, Ed and I travelled up to The Hamptons to visit David’s parents’ home—the venue for his forthcoming wedding. I wasn’t relishing the prospect of seeing George and Phoebe again, so I was more than a little relieved when I discovered that only David and his fiancée, Rachel, would be available to meet us. Despite my history with David, I have to say that I was intrigued to meet the woman who’d tempted him to contemplate marriage again.

Rachel Moray was nothing like I’d expected. Far from the small, compliant beauty I had pictured her as, happy to follow David’s every whim with wide-eyed admiration, she was a shade under six feet tall, of athletic build and strong character. I instantly liked her, unlike Ed, who had decided to pity her from the very beginning and was unwilling to be parted from his preconceptions so readily. As we left the car and crunched
our way across thickly spread, pale yellow gravel to the front door, Rachel appeared from the garden, ruddy-cheeked and breathless, a large bunch of basil in her hand.

‘Hello, you must be Rosie. David’s told me so much about you—your amazing floristry and what a good friend you were to him back in London. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.’

‘This is Ed Steinmann, my co-designer,’ I smiled as Ed reluctantly shook her hand and mumbled something cordially unintelligible.

‘Great, well, David’s waiting in the orangery, so if you’d like to follow me?’

As we stepped through the doorway into an elaborate marble atrium, Ed pulled my sleeve and whispered, ‘Bet he hasn’t told her
everything
about you.’

‘Shh! She’ll hear you. Just
behave,
Steinmann.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’
Ed saluted me with mock respect. ‘Just don’t expect me to like the guy, OK?’

We hurried to catch up with Rachel, who was striding effortlessly ahead at a surprising pace. After passing through several equally lavish sitting rooms, we walked into the orangery—a two-storey-high, glass-domed Victorian conservatory looking out onto perfectly clipped lawns that were sweepingly impressive, even in the drab March light. David was seated at a cast-iron table, plans and papers spread out before him and a vivid memory of him sitting at his desk in London flashed into my mind. It never failed to amaze me how someone so disciplined and driven in his work could have such a messy desk. At first, it had bugged me intensely, until I realised that what I saw as disorder was actually a complex planning system known only to him. Feeling a shiver travel down my spine, I shook the image from my mind.

‘Rosie—hi! Welcome to the latest Lithgow family acquisition.
Nice, huh?’ he grinned, standing as we approached. ‘And you must be the famous Ed. I gather you and Rosie are great buddies.’

‘The
best,’
replied Ed, a little too defensively, as he shook David’s hand. ‘Someone has to look after her, you know.’

David’s smile tightened. ‘I’m sure Rosie can look after herself.’

‘OK,’ I blurted quickly, ‘we don’t have much time, so I need to hurry this along, if I may.’

‘Certainly,’ smiled Rachel, giving David’s arm a playful cuff as we sat down. ‘Honestly, Rosie, the way he’s so relaxed about our wedding, you’d think he wasn’t planning to attend!’

I kicked Ed sharply on his shin under the table before he had a chance to speak.

‘You didn’t have to kick me
quite
so hard,’ Ed moaned as we drove home, later that day.

‘Yes, I did. You were likely to say something that would have embarrassed everyone—not least Rachel.’

Ed turned to face me with a strange smile on his face. ‘I can’t believe you care what Rachel feels, given she’s “the competition” in all this.’

‘Competition? Don’t be so overdramatic. You are so way off the mark.’

‘I mean it, Rosie. The guy dumps you like a rock at the altar, screws your life up and disappears for six years. Then he suddenly shows up, throws all the past in your face again, asks you to work at his
wedding,
of all things, then introduces you to the woman he’s decided is worthy of his affections—where, presumably, you weren’t—and expects you to
like
her?’

‘Well, thank you for that glowing assessment of my situation,’ I shot back, thinly veiling the deep hurt his remark had caused. ‘The fact is, whatever David did in the past is exactly that:
in the past.
It’s not Rachel’s fault, so there’s no reason
I should bear her any ill will whatsoever. I don’t want David: she’s welcome to him. It might just be that he’s met his match after all these years.’

‘Well, it sucks big style.’

‘Mate, I know you’re just trying to protect me and, believe me, it’s great to know you’re fighting my corner. But all I need to do is to get this wedding done and out of the way, so at least I can have some closure on this. OK?’

Reluctantly, Ed agreed. ‘Well, all right. But I have every right to hate it.’

‘You’re truly a man of conviction, Ed.’

‘That’s what Nate says.’

The mention of Nate’s name made my heart jump. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Uh, I wasn’t going to tell you…’

‘So tell me now.’

He sighed and looked out of the passenger window. ‘It’s nothing. We’ve just been meeting up, now and again. Turns out we have more in common than our taste in baseball teams.’

‘So how long has this been happening?’

‘Since just before the Grand Winter Ball. We caught a ball game, grabbed a pizza and ended up at Joe’s drinking bourbon till the early hours of the morning.’

‘But he’s hardly contacted me since…since the announcement of his wedding. Why would he see you and not me?’ I could feel tears welling up and I swallowed hard.

‘Hey, Rosie, give the guy a break. He was embarrassed before Mimi did the whole public reveal thing—he didn’t know what to say to you. Especially after the conversation you guys had that afternoon.’

I struggled to contain my composure at this bombshell. ‘He told you about
that
?’

‘Yeah, he did. Don’t be angry, Rosie. The guy needed someone to talk to about it all. He needed advice from a guy’s perspective. We all need it, sometimes—a guy who understands.’

‘And that was you?’

‘And that
is
me.’

I couldn’t hide the pain in my voice any longer. ‘Then why hasn’t he talked to me? And what right does he have telling you about our conversation? It was private, not something to broadcast to all and sundry.’

‘Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, Rosie.’

‘I didn’t mean—oh, Ed, I’m sorry. I just really need to talk to him about everything. I—
miss
him.’

Ed was silent for a long time, the only sound the hum of the car engine and the whoosh of passing cars on the freeway, as the lights of Manhattan loomed ahead. I tried to catch a glimpse of his face, but the driver in front was braking erratically, forcing me to keep my eyes ahead.

When he eventually spoke, his tone was low, empty even. ‘Then I’ll ask him to meet you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. You two obviously have stuff to discuss.’

Ed didn’t say another word as we drove through New York to his street, giving me only the briefest of smiles as he left the car and ran quickly up the steps to disappear into his building. I sat motionless in the car outside for some time, engine still running, my mind buzzing with activity yet frustratingly blank, before finally pulling away to head home.

For the rest of the week, Ed and I carried on our work as normal, but there was a definite change in the air. We laughed and joked as much as we ever had, but it was as though an invisible barrier now sat stubbornly between us. Marnie noticed it the day after our venue visit and, after two days, finally plucked up enough courage to ask me about it.

I was working on one of the larger garlands for the entrance to the orangery when Marnie came into the workroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

‘So what’s happening?’

I looked up from my work. ‘About what?’

Marnie folded her arms and adopted a serious stance, which with her babylike features only served to make her look like a five year-old about to scold a teddy. ‘About you and Ed. Something’s different with you guys.’

I looked back down to the garland, trying to avert her stare. ‘We’re fine, honey. You’re imagining things.’

Marnie was not going to be placated so easily. She squared up for a fight. ‘I am
not
imagining this, Rosie. You’ve been keeping each other at arm’s length. I’m not blind, you know—or as dumb as you think I am.’

‘Oh, Marnie, I don’t think you’re dumb.’

‘Well, you both act like I am. Anyway, that’s beside the point. What happened in The Hamptons? Was it because of your ex?’

‘No, it was nothing to do with him.’

‘Then
what?
Come on, Rosie, you know I can tell something’s up here. I asked Ed about it and he said I’d have to ask you.’

Nice deflection, Steinmann.
‘Ed and I are fine. I think perhaps the fact that we’re doing David’s wedding is playing on his mind a little. He’s very protective of me and it means he sometimes gets angry on my behalf. But I’ve already told him he doesn’t need to be concerned. I’m fine, honestly.’

‘I don’t believe you. Just promise me you guys will work things out? It’s
weird
working here at the moment.’

I watched her leave and tried to ignore the growing sense of frustration within me. The truth was I had no idea what was wrong with Ed. I’d gone over and over it in my mind since Friday and I still couldn’t work out what had happened between us on the drive home. The barrier was unavoidably real; the problem was how to determine what it was and then find a way to break it down.

Nate called me that afternoon and asked if he could visit Kowalski’s. ‘I’ve a hankering for Old F decaf—and I think the couch misses me too.’

When I went to find Ed to tell him, he was nowhere to be found. He’d obviously decided to make himself scarce, leading me to conclude that Nate had probably talked with him about visiting me before he called. It bugged me beyond words that Ed and Nate now confided in each other. It’s crazy, I know, but I couldn’t help feeling as if I’d been written out of the friendship. Not that I would have wanted to sit in a bar drinking bourbon with them and discussing the Mets season, of course.
It would just have been nice to have been included in whatever they were talking about.

Nate arrived at three o’clock and the little bell swinging happily upon his entrance into Kowalski’s might just as well have been a triumphant fanfare for the way my heart skipped when I saw him. In the two months since we’d last met, he had changed considerably—surprisingly so, in fact. Not only was his hair longer but his countenance seemed altered—subdued, maybe. The lop-sided grin and cheeky sense of humour remained, however, and within a few minutes we were laughing like we always had done.

‘So, how was your time as a national media target?’ Nate smiled as I handed him his coffee.

‘Um,
interesting.
Let’s just say I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience. Mind you, Kowalski’s seemed to benefit from it all—our orders are up this year.’

‘Ah, not all bad news then, hey?’

‘I think we made the best of a bad situation, yes. So, how was Christmas?’

Nate groaned and slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘You wouldn’t believe how dire the whole thing was, Rosie! First we had to endure the ridiculously elaborate show that is a Sutton family Christmas. You would have
died.
I thought I’d stepped onto the set of
Dynasty
by mistake. I swear even the Christmas tree had shoulder pads. The entrance lobby looked like an explosion in a sequin factory. Every available surface was stuffed with gaudy baubles and enough greenery to start a forest fire, and as for the food—well, it made Celia’s parties look like a picnic in Central Park!’

‘Sounds delightful.’

‘Mimi even had choristers “singing in” the turkey.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘Seriously—there were three choirboys standing in the dining room entrance, singing “O Holy Night” as the waiters brought the turkey in.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘And then Caitlin had to endure the true horror of an Amie family New Year. Most of my brothers riotously drunk, my mother and father pretending they weren’t having an argument and my two grandmothers shouting merrily in conversation—even though each is as deaf as the other and had no idea what the other one was saying. Complete nightmare from start to finish. How about you?’

‘Me? Well, I had a quiet one, for a change. Although I did receive a mystery delivery on Christmas morning.’

His expression remained steady, even though I was looking hard for any flicker of acknowledgement. ‘Really?’

I told him about the floral basket and the intriguing note—and still he displayed no outward signs of recognition. If anything, his eyes looked a little sad. ‘It’s a cool gesture. It must’ve made your day.’

‘It did, I guess.’ Confused by his reaction, I changed the subject. ‘And the wedding preparations? How are they going?’

He gazed out of the window. ‘Good, all good. Although I half wonder if Caitlin might have planned a better guy to turn up in my place on the day. It seems I’m surplus to requirements when it comes to planning. That’s fine by me: I’ll just sit back and watch the Mimi-Caitlin juggernaut steamroller through town.’

‘But you’re happy about it?’

His eyes met mine blankly. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Then, forgive me, I don’t understand…’

‘Why I said what I did before the big announcement? I have no idea, Rosie. Sometimes it’s like I completely know
what I want and then…I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never feel totally happy with the situation. Maybe I’ll always be one of those guys who complain incessantly about their wives, yet stay in long marriages with them. It’s just easier not to fight stuff, you know?’

‘So, everything you said was…?’

He placed a hand lightly on my shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, gentle circles as he spoke. ‘True, Rosie. At the time. No, still true now. I won’t have Caitlin or anybody dictate who I spend time with—that hasn’t changed.’

‘But your feelings for Caitlin have?’ I mentally kicked myself for asking; it was supposed to be an internal question. Nate’s expression changed, his eyes meeting mine.

‘I don’t know what I want, Rosie. But I want you in my life.’

‘You’re planning your
wedding
…’

‘I’m aware of that. But I can’t help thinking there could be another way.’

‘What are you saying?’

He leaned towards me, his voice an urgent whisper. ‘I don’t know, OK. I just
need
you in my life.’

‘Nate, I already am. We’re friends, remember?’

He placed a hand on my knee. ‘As a friend, then. Only a friend—if you want?’

This was too much for my brain to handle. Irritated, I stood up and was about to answer when the little silver bell above the shop door jingled loudly as a thick-set man in a long grey overcoat rushed into the store.

‘Rosie Duncan?’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

He shook my hand hurriedly. ‘John Meenaghan. I’m a neighbour of Eli Lukich—the old Russian guy who comes in here?’

‘Yes, I know Eli. What’s the matter?’

‘I really didn’t know who else to contact, Ms Duncan. It was only because he had your card on his refrigerator door that I’m here.’

‘What’s happened?’

John took a deep breath and placed a sheepskin-gloved hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this. We found Mr Lukich in his apartment this morning—with his wife.’

Panic gripped my heart. ‘Is he…? Are they…?’

The tears in his eyes confirmed my worst fears. ‘Alyona died some time ago, we think. The stench in his apartment was overwhelming. The police think he refused to believe she was dead. She was lying on their bed with her head on a pillow, dressed in a white lace gown and surrounded by bunches of dried yellow roses. The officer who discovered them believes Eli just gave up trying to live. There was no food in the apartment and the electricity had been cut off. I’m so sorry, Ms Duncan.’

The thought of Eli’s silent, deathly vigil at the bedside of the woman he loved so passionately was too awful to comprehend.

‘So when he was visiting Kowalski’s to collect his yellow roses his wife was already dead?’ Nate asked, appearing at my side and placing a steadying arm at my back.

John nodded. ‘There’s a simple memorial planned for them at St Agatha’s cemetery tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Can you come?’

‘Absolutely. Can I do anything?’

‘Could you provide a couple of wreaths? I’m willing to cover the cost.’

I shook my head. ‘No need. It will be my gift to them.’

When John left, I sank slowly into the couch and buried my head in my hands, sobbing. Nate sat by me, his arm
tentatively draped around my shoulders as if he was scared to intrude on my grief. The awful reality of the Lukichs’ lives and deaths seemed so unfair, in a world where people treated love as a commodity, using it and discarding it seemingly at will. Eli’s world had ended when Alyona died; his only remaining purpose a hopeless vigil maintained in her honour. The yellow roses I gave him each month were his only connection to the woman he had endured so much for. And yet I had no idea that, after the stories and laughter and mock bartering which accompanied each of his visits to Kowalski’s, he returned to the stark reality of what little life he still possessed. I remembered what I had said to Nate, months before, about Eli Lukich being the epitome of what a man in love should be; now, in the light of his death, he had proven my theory, taking his life-long devotion to its ultimate conclusion.

Ed, Marnie and Nate joined me at St Agatha’s the next morning for Eli and Alyona’s funeral. John had organised a whip-round in his apartment block and one of his neighbours arranged for their cousin—an undertaker—to provide caskets. Ten people huddled together in the little cemetery church as the minister recounted the sparse details of the Lukichs’ lives—a short eulogy that did their epic life struggle no justice whatsoever. Following the brief service, I was grateful of Ed’s arm around my shoulders as we slowly processed to the freshly dug grave and watched the caskets being lowered together, two wreaths of white and yellow roses and lilies adorning the coffins. Then, one by one, each mourner stepped forward to say goodbye and drop a single yellow rose into the grave. Ed and Marnie hugged me before retreating respectfully.

As people walked away from the graveside, I noticed Nate wiping tears from his eyes.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I want what they had, Rosie.’

‘I don’t know if that kind of love is possible today, Nate.’

‘What if I
want
it to be?’

Looking deep into his eyes, I squeezed his hand. ‘Sometimes wanting isn’t enough. You need to find something that will make you happy enough not to care about anything else.’

He shook his head. ‘What if I’ve already found it and it’s not mine?’

I couldn’t answer him. Slowly, he bent his head and kissed my cheek, the warmth of his face making my skin tingle. Then he turned and strode away down the hill to where Marnie and Ed were waiting.

Heart pounding, I turned back to face the grave. ‘Eli Lukich, you look after that beautiful wife of yours,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll never forget you.’

Work on the Lithgow wedding had to continue after the funeral, despite the fact that none of us was in any mood to work. Jocelyn and Jack held the fort out front whilst Marnie, Ed and I worked on the large displays. When Marnie left the workroom to fetch coffee, Ed appeared at my side.

‘Rosie, I’m an idiot.’

‘So tell me something I don’t know.’

‘I got mad when we drove back from seeing David—over nothing. Going to the funeral today put everything into perspective. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine, hon. I just want us to be
us,
you know?’

‘Yeah. Me too. And hey, it looks like old Nateyboy is back on the scene?’

I pulled a face. ‘Hmm, well you could say that, although I don’t think I’ll ever work him out.’

‘Whoever said guys are simple, huh?’ he smirked. ‘I think he likes you.’

‘You’ve said this before and you’re still wrong. I think he’s confused. And engaged.
And
planning his wedding.’

‘And battling his feelings for you.’

‘Not this
again,
Ed…’

‘No—hear me out, Rosie. I think he likes you and—and I think the feeling’s mutual.’

I could feel a traitorous blush creeping over my cheeks and looked away. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

His voice was low and feather-soft. ‘I think I do.’

I turned to face him and, the moment my eyes met the steely-blue Steinmann stare, I felt my heart rate quicken. ‘I don’t know what I feel,’ I answered, with more truth than I’d intended. ‘There’s so much—
stuff
—whizzing about in my head and I honestly can’t make sense of any of it. I’ve kept my emotions under lock and key for so long that it’s like I’ve forgotten how to use them. Be warned—this is an inevitable side effect of the melting process. It’s scary and it’s perplexing and it’s something so out of your control that you just get swept along with it all.’

‘Is it David?’

‘No—well, yes partly. I spent so long being happy to cast him as the dastardly villain that it doesn’t compute now I’ve made peace with him. But it’s more than that: it’s everything—David, Nate—’ I broke off as I realised what should have come next:
and you…
Struggling to grasp the reins of this runaway steed, I changed tack and forced a laugh. ‘But I’ll be fine. Honestly. Once this wedding is done and we can just go back to being “the Kowalski’s family” it’ll all be clearer, I’m sure of it.’