Miranda Dickinson 2 Book Bundle. Miranda Dickinson

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СКАЧАТЬ to let go of the past? I caught my breath as the bold assertion glimmered before my eyes like the sunlight glinting along the roof of a taxi speeding alongside mine. How long should you hold on to something like this? What would be the worst that could happen if someone else knew? Were Ed and Marnie likely to allow the revelation of my past to affect how they saw me now? My heart rate began to increase and heat began claiming my face as a dim image of the possible scenario played out like a flicker-book film in my mind.

      As the cab slowed to approach the home of the New York Times, I quickly bundled the debate to the darkest recesses of my mind and forced my thoughts to snap back to the present as I rummaged in my handbag for my purse.

      Celia was waiting by the building’s grand entrance. I could see her checking her watch irritably and looking accusingly up the street as my cab pulled up. Once out on the sidewalk, I turned to Ken and handed him a few more notes than he’d asked for. On seeing his puzzled expression I explained: ‘Something extra for your little blessing girl.’ Exit one immensely proud and smiley father.

      Celia grabbed my arm impatiently and whisked me inside the building. Before I knew it, we were already in the elevator and up to the fifteenth floor. When Celia is on a mission, you end up moving fast.

      ‘I can tell you’ve had a bad morning, sweetie,’ she said, as the chrome doors opened to reveal her office, ‘but we’ll talk about it later, OK?’

      I agreed, not taking the slightest offence. Celia cares deeply about her friends and will get to chat about their important stuff eventually, once whatever is driving her at that moment is resolved. I don’t mind. I especially didn’t mind today. I was in no hurry whatsoever to repeat the whole discomforting soul-searching thing. It felt like my soul had, this particular morning, been scrutinised way too much already.

      ‘Now, about the interview—I’m so thrilled about it! I’ve got our new features reporter, Josh Mercer, to do it for us,’ Celia informed me once we were sitting in her office. ‘I thought his take on you would be fresher and more immediate than mine. We’ll need a photo too, but Josh can do that when he visits. I suggested he come to Kowalski’s to talk to you—is that OK?’

      Hands raised in surrender, I had to smile. ‘Fine.’

      ‘Wonderful! So, he’ll come by Tuesday next week? That way we can be ready for the weekend edition.’

      There was no point trying to argue with her. ‘Sounds great,’ I smiled, hoping I sounded somewhere near convincing.

      But Celia was already well into her next task, tapping accusingly on her keyboard and looking decidedly vexed. ‘How annoying can technology be? Oh, where is it? I had it on screen just a second ago and now it’s not there…ah, here we are…’ She stopped, looked over at me and gave a sheepish smile. ‘Wait, I’m sorry, Rosie. I haven’t even said hi to you.’

      I grinned back and gave a little wave. ‘Hi, Celia.’

      ‘Hi, Rosie. Sorry.’

      ‘It’s OK.’

      A new page loaded on her screen and the Celia Reighton Express was off again. ‘Now, where was I? Ah, mmm…this.’ She pointed to the screen. ‘I wanted you to see this, Rosie. You said you didn’t know why people have been asking about you since the Authors’ Meet? Well, this will show you how big a stir you’ve caused.’ She motioned for me to come to her side of the desk. On screen was an email from Mimi Sutton:

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Re: Your wonderful English Rose Darling Celia,

      I just got another call from your florist—who is adorable—she definitely has something new with her designs. I’m impressed already. In fact, I emailed my entire address book today with the news about her store. So now anyone who wants to be anyone in this town will choose her. Though I say it myself, it’s another trend New York can thank me for. Rosie Duncan is now, officially, the Next Big Thing. As for Nathaniel Amie…well, expect an order from him VERY SOON, if our conversation today was anything to go by—dare I suggest he might be about to finally make an honest woman of Caitlin? We can but hope…Don’t forget—drinks at Viva Gramercy next Thursday at 6 p.m. Much love, Mimi x

      ‘How about that?’ asked Celia, triumphantly. ‘You’ve only won over one of the most influential women in Manhattan!’ I wasn’t quite sure what to say. Before I could formulate a reply, Celia continued, ‘But the best of it is the call I got today.’

      ‘Who from?’

      Celia paused for effect. ‘Philippe. He is fuming, Rosie!’

      Uh-oh. Not good.

      ‘What did he say?’ I asked slowly, not wanting the answer.

      ‘He’s had calls from some of his biggest clients informing him they no longer require his services.’

      Incredibly not good. I pulled a face. ‘Let me guess—all these people feature in Mimi’s address book?’

      ‘Corr-ect!’ Celia sang as I groaned and dropped my head into my hands.

      ‘Great,’ I yelped. ‘Just great. Have you any idea how much trouble this could cause Kowalski’s?’

      Celia’s smile faded slightly. ‘How do you mean, honey?’

      ‘Think about it! I don’t want to make an enemy of Philippe Devereau. Pretentious and vastly over-priced he may be, but he’s also the market leader in New York. His business is huge. He is not going to take kindly to a little boutique business like Kowalski’s stealing his best customers.’

      Celia gave me a hug. ‘You’re not stealing them,’ she smiled. ‘You’re being given them! You worry far too much, Rosie. It’s business—and all’s fair in it.’

      I desperately hoped she was right.

       Chapter Six

      The next morning was fine and bright. Small wispy white clouds were draped theatrically across the sky and made an impressive spectacle as I pulled back my curtains to let the day in. The silver maple tree planted in the street outside my window was just beginning to adorn itself in its gorgeous yellow-gold hues for the autumn. There was a decided chill in the air as I opened the front door and walked down the brownstone steps onto my street.

      It’s only a short walk from my apartment to Celia’s but it’s an essential part of my Saturdays. My Saturdays are as close to sacred as they can be and I guard them jealously. Well, I do now. This was not always the case. When I first took the helm at Kowalski’s I felt I had to be there every single minute the shop was open. I developed a disaster-movie mentality to my business; as if the moment I wasn’t there things would start blowing up, or a meteor would burst through the atmosphere on a collision course with the shop, or aliens would invade—or all of the above—and I would return to find the place gutted with my staff staring blankly at me, asking, ‘Where were you when we needed you?’

      After about a year I got СКАЧАТЬ