Kitabı oku: «I’ll Take New York»

Contents

Cover

Praise for Miranda Dickinson

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

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
Stromoli’s restaurant, 11th Street, Brooklyn

‘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
Departures Hall, San Francisco International Airport, California

‘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
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn

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
Jake’s apartment, 826B Jefferson Street, Williamsburg

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
Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn

‘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
Kowalski’s, corner of West 68th and Columbus, Upper West Side

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 …