New York Valentine (31 page)

‘People are so focused,’ she said, ‘they’re all looking fantastic, they’re all jostling, they’ve got things to do, places to be, ladders to climb …’

‘You
loved
it, didn’t you?’ Fern asked, smiling, pouring tea and understanding her daughter perfectly.

‘I did. I absolutely loved it. Now that I’m back … I think I feel homesick.’

Ed laughed quietly, while Fern shook her head. ‘But you’re not planning a move or anything dramatic, are you?’ she asked, her eyes catching Annie’s.

‘Well … you never know. It might be really interesting to go for … well … a year or so.’

She saw the stricken look in Fern’s eyes straight away. ‘But I can’t move over with you, you know,’ her mum said, stirring her tea, ‘there’s the garden.’

Oh for goodness’ sake! This is what gardeners got like – they couldn’t leave the country for a fortnight, terrified they’d miss the philo-dilo-whatsit presenting its one and only blossom of the year.

‘Then there’s …’ Fern carried on stirring, ‘there’s the problem with the … you know … oh, what is it again?’ The infuriated look which accompanied every one of Fern’s regular senior moments crossed her face.

‘Planes? You don’t like to fly?’ Ed wondered, trying to be helpful.

‘Love flying … No the – what’s it called? That nice man who’s in charge. He’s trying to sort it out. Oh! What’s his name? I can’t remember anything …’ she looked upset now.

‘Relax, Mum,’ Annie soothed, ‘yoga breaths, it will come.’

‘The money you have to pay, for doctors …’

‘Health insurance,’ Ed said, understanding now.

‘Thank you Ed. Health insurance. How can I possibly move over there in my state? It would probably cost £100 a day just to let me come in. I’m not sure if I could even visit you very often. And who is the nice man in charge?’

‘Barack Obama?’ Ed said.

Annie moved along the sofa so that she was right beside her mother. She put an arm around her and leaned her head so that it was on her mum’s shoulder. She breathed in Chanel No. 19, plus the liquid soap which had been used to gently hand-wash the beige cashmere cardigan draped over her mum’s shoulders.

Annie closed her eyes for a moment and went through the pros and cons in her mind. What if something happened to her mum when she was on the other side of the Atlantic? She tried to imagine having to make some terrible, lonely and tormented journey home.

Then she thought of Dinah and Billie: the one growing older and the other growing up. She would miss so much of that time, wouldn’t really know either of them as incredibly well as she did now.

She thought of Owen trying to fit in at a new school. He’d never had to move school before.

And Ed might have to look after the babies all day long because he didn’t have a work permit.

But then Fifth Avenue crept temptingly into her thoughts: hot and heady, sparkling with lights, shop windows, the steady stream of yellow cabs, honking horns, packed with life, energy and excitement.

She thought of Elena and the thrill of the dress sales. They’d made a dress together which Emily Wilmington had chosen to wear on her date with Josh Hartnett! It still amazed her. Emily Wilmington, who could pick any dress from the
Vanity Fair
rails which took her fancy, had worn their dress for her film-star date.

‘Mumma.’ Minnie, clutching at the table leg for support, threw her head into Annie’s lap. ‘Mummmmmma,’ she repeated, burying her face against Annie’s leg. Annie touched the silky hair on Minnie’s head.

Just as she’d told Ed in New York, she
loved
having attachments, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lana homeward bound:

Black and white maxi dress (Banana Republic sale)
White flip-flops (pavement stall)
Big Apple pendant necklace (gift from Elena)
Huge black and white tote (Macy’s)
Total est. cost: $70

‘I’ll miss you too …’

The sharp blast of the buzzer startled Elena. She looked up from her computer screen at Lana, who was sitting on the sofa bed, surrounded by luggage and dresses in long plastic wrappers.

‘Your cab?’ Elena asked in surprise.

‘I think so.’

Lana went to the door and lifted the speaker phone from its cradle.

‘Hi … yes, OK …’ She turned to inform Elena, ‘it’s the cab.’

‘Already?’ Elena sounded sad.

‘Yeah … I guess I have to go.’ Lana sounded sad too.

‘It is terrible,’ Elena said. She got up from the table and flung her long arms around Lana.

‘When will I see you again, my wonderful worker? When are you coming back to Perfect Dress?’

‘We’ve talked about that,’ Lana reminded her.

‘No one looks as good in the navy jersey as you,’ Elena said, pulling away from Lana reluctantly.

‘Thanks, but you rock the magenta.’ With that Lana picked up her handbag and two large holdalls.

‘No, I help. I come down with you,’ Elena insisted.

They rode the elevator down chatting about the busy week Perfect Dress was about to have. The dresses were out on sale now and Elena and Svetlana were launching an all-out PR offensive. Elena was still trying to persuade Emily Wilmington in person to come on board as an official face of Perfect Dress.

‘When do the next lot of new fabrics come in?’ Lana asked.

‘Tomorrow. Is so, so sad you miss them. Navy silks and deep pink chiffon for winter. Turquoise for spring.’

‘And how about pewter silk?’ Lana asked, ‘to carry on the elegant, understated theme.’

‘Good idea!’

Out on the pavement, they hugged tightly once again and as Lana got into the cab, they promised to stay in touch.

‘I’ll let you know, just as soon as I can,’ were Lana’s parting words as she hung from the open cab window, waving.

‘I’ll miss you!’

‘I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss Manhattan more!’ Lana called.

Then the cab was off down the street. Elena followed it for a moment or two, then realized someone was walking along the pavement towards her – waving.

She watched, not just with her eyes, but somehow also with her heart. And her heart beat faster and opened wide. Wide as the grin now stretching across her face. And his.

‘Sye!’ she called.

He ran the last 20 metres or so towards her. Once he’d snatched her up, whirled her round and kissed her on the mouth, he asked, ‘Have you missed me just as much as I’ve missed you?’

‘Well …’ She laced her fingers behind his neck, let her eyes melt into his, ‘maybe … maybe just a little bit.’

‘How long has it been?’

She looked at her watch, ‘Seven and half hours.’

‘Too long, way too long.’

‘You are early.’

Sye shook his head: ‘No, I’m taking you on a little trip before our very important
appointment.’

‘A trip, I can’t go on a trip. I have very busy schedule,’ Elena protested but she kept her arms around his waist and her face turned to his, playfully willing to be persuaded.

‘Let’s call it your lunch break. C’mon, we’ll go up to the apartment, get your bag and then we’ll go.’

But the privacy of the elevator and then the even greater privacy of Elena’s apartment – all her own for the first time in four weeks – was too much of a temptation for a couple so expressively in love.

Elena was attempting to undo Sye’s belt buckle by floor nine and he’d already succeeded in unleashing her bra. They ran from the elevator to the apartment door and kissed and caressed while Elena fumbled with the keys. As soon as the lock was opened, they hurried inside and began to make love right up against the other side of the door.

She felt his pulse leap under the touch of her lips on his neck. He was pushing against her, sliding his hand up her leg, moving her dress out of the way, then the wispy slip of underwear.

Up on her tiptoes, leaning against the apartment door, she took him inside, her fingers clinging to his buttocks.

‘Sye. Yes … yes …’ she heard herself gasping as she ran her hands over her breasts, desperate to bring the tingling, shuddering tension to breaking point.

‘Is there still time … to go on your trip?’

‘The trip!’ Sye sat up from the doze he’d fallen into on Elena’s bed and glanced at his watch. ‘Quick! Clothes back on. I think there’s still time, if we hurry up.’

Outside again, Sye took Elena’s hand in his and hurried her towards the subway station where they got onto a train bound for the Lower East Side.

‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’ Elena asked, sitting as close to Sye as she could, fitting her shoulder snugly under his arm.

‘No. Surprise.’

They got off at the last stop before the train tunnelled under the water and out towards Brooklyn, then Sye led her by the hand out of the station and through several streets much shabbier than the glittering midtown she was used to. Discount food stores, drugstores and all the smaller, cheaper shops of a neighbourhood like this, lined the streets.

‘And here we are,’ Sye announced, pulling Elena to a stop in front of a nondescript luggage shop. Cheap bags and suitcases filled the windows and a pavement display of plastic shoulder bags and multi-coloured shoppers had been set up outside.

‘What is this?’

‘This is 135 Orchard Street.’

‘So?’

‘This is a very important address for my family. What you need to know is that the ultra-glamorous Mrs Westhoven of the Upper East Side, married to Sam Westhoven, and chief buyer for Bloomingdale’s, grew up in a tiny apartment on the top floor of number 135.’

Elena’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘No!’

‘Not only that, but Sylvia Westhoven once worked in her parents’ grocery store which used to be right there where the luggage place is now.’

‘Really?’ Elena could hardly believe it.

‘Yeah. And her parents were …’ Sye paused, knowing Elena would find this almost unbelievable, ‘immigrants who came to New York with … nothing.’

‘No,’ she breathed. ‘From where?’

‘Poland.’

‘Poland? Are you kidding me?’

Sye shook his head.

‘She is an Eastern European girl, just like me. Why you wait so long to tell me this?’ There was an accusing flash in Elena’s eyes.

‘I don’t know … I didn’t know my grandparents, I never think of my mother as “foreign”, it was only when this meeting came up that I really thought about it.’

‘Sye, why is she so against me?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe you remind her too much of everything she used to be but isn’t any more. She’s not a person who wants to look back. She considers herself High New York Society now.’

‘She used to work in a grocery store on the Lower East Side? And her parents came to New York from Poland?’ Elena wanted to make sure she’d heard all this properly.

‘Yes … I think I’ve got that right.’

‘And now she lives in Upper East Side with very rich lawyer husband and has big important department store job?’

‘Yeah …’ Sye pushed his hair from his face and looked almost embarrassed by the grandeur of his family.

‘American dream, huh?’ Elena gave him a little smile.

‘I guess.’

‘Did they want you to be lawyer?’ Elena slipped her arm through Sye’s and gazed up at the building.

‘Oh boy yes. A smart lawyer son to take over the family firm one day. But instead, they got an Arts Major who wanted to take fashion pictures. Their only son! They were
terrified
I was gay, so that’s a relief for them, at least,’ he said, letting his hand slide down onto Elena’s pert behind.

‘But now,’ Elena was working it out, ‘they want a rich wife and clever grandchildren who will be lawyers in the family firm.’ She might have grown up in the Ukrainian countryside but after two years in Svetlana’s company, Elena was catching on fast to the ways of the wealthy.

‘Oh yeah,’ Sye said gently.

‘I could be a rich wife,’ Elena said, also in a quiet voice, ‘my mother a multimillionaire and I run very successful dress business.’

‘True …’ Sye said.

‘But we don’t need to think about all this now.’ She slipped her hand into the back pocket of his baggy combats and squeezed.

‘No,’ he shook his head, turned and kissed her on the lips, ‘but if you have any visa problems, don’t worry, we’ll just get married.’

‘Your starter wife?’ she teased, feeling a thrilled leap in her stomach.

‘Yeah,’ he agreed, feeling the same tingling thrill.

They turned and began to kiss properly, clinging together, oblivious to the street hustle going on around them; deaf to the catcalls from the man at the ramshackle stall close by selling watermelons and mobile phone holsters.

When the kiss was finally over, they stood looking deep into each other’s eyes, electrified by the emotion fizzing between them.

‘I …’ Sye began.

‘I …’ Elena wondered.

Their lips were just inches apart.

Elena put her finger up against Sye’s mouth. ‘Shhhh …’ she urged and began to kiss him once again.

Then Sye dug into one of his trouser pockets and brought out a pale blue envelope, a little battered by its journey. ‘This is for you.’

Elena’s eyebrows shot up, but she began to tear the envelope open. Inside she found a sheet of folded pale blue paper. She opened it up to see the words ‘Sylvia Westhoven’ embossed in the corner and then a letter, handwritten in navy blue ink.

‘ “Dear Elena,” ‘ she read aloud to Sye, ‘ “I owe you an apology. I understand now that you are a hard-working, ambitious girl of
considerable means” …
what is this?’ Elena asked, needing a translation.

‘You have your own money – very important to Mrs Westhoven,’ Sye said.

‘Oh … “and if my son thinks you are a wonderful person, then you must be very special. I would like to get to know you much better. I look forward to meeting you at Yakowski’s Deli today. The latkes are amazing, just like my mother used to make. My very best wishes, Sylvia.”’

Elena looked up at Sye in astonishment.

‘If I was not holding this letter in my hands, I would not believe it,’ she said.

Sye nodded his agreement and added: ‘Maybe that’s why she wrote it.’

The client:

Violet evening gown (Zac Posen)
Gold sandals (Russell & Bromley)
Satin bow clutch bag (MaxMara)
Total est. cost: £1,600