Lost and Found. Jane Sigaloff

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Mother. But the bottom line was he wanted it all. The whole mutual love and respect thing. The Paul and Linda. The Brad and Jen. Someone to grow old with. To have children with. Or nothing.

      ‘But…’ there was always a bloody but ‘…maybe I was just being male. Wanting the thing I didn’t have just because… She was a great girl in lots of ways. Spent a bit too much time at the office…’

      ‘She was ambitious.’

      ‘So am I. I just don’t feel the need to talk about my career trajectory incessantly. And at least I have an office to go to.’

      ‘As do I.’

      Ben scoffed as he folded his arms across his chest. ‘I think you’ll find yours is the spare room.’

      ‘At least I have a spare room.’

      Why did she always have to have a comeback? ‘Anyway, people need television.’

      Ali snorted. ‘Only in the way I need four pairs of black boots. Anyway, it’s not like you have a biological clock that’s ticking—and you’ve still got all your hair. Relax, unwind, have a bit of fun…’

      Ben nodded. Right now the random shag option was far more alluring than playing the relationship game. He didn’t have the energy for false starts, thoughtful gifts and the whole wooing process if there wasn’t long term potential. Lazy? Tired? Uninspired.

      ‘She’s out there somewhere, Benj. Maybe even at the gym.’

      ‘Nice try, Al.’

      Resting on his elbows, Ben eyed her suspiciously as she contorted herself through a number of stretches at the side of the bed. Women were definitely more supple than men, and Ali was always hyper when they were back in New York.

      ‘OK, I’m ready. Are you coming or what?’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘Fine.’

      Ben knew from her tone that it absolutely wasn’t, but he also knew she was his sister and by the time she’d sweated away over three hundred calories he’d be forgiven.

      ‘I’ll be about an hour. Why don’t you get some breakfast sent up?’

      ‘We can just grab coffee and a bagel.’ Ben wasn’t in the mood to spend forty dollars on tea and toast.

      ‘Order whatever you like. I’ll claim it.’

      She knew him quite well.

      ‘I don’t want you whingeing about hunger pangs in a couple of hours—we’ve got a big shopping day ahead of us.’ Ben wished that he could get a little more excited at the prospect. ‘Now, shape up. This weekend is not all about you. Work aside, I need new clothes—and, having unpacked your bag, I know you do. Not least because we’ve barely made an impact on the walk-in wardrobe. I think this suite is bigger than your apartment in London.’

      ‘Not difficult.’

      ‘Stop being so antsy.’

      ‘I’m tired. Blame it on sleep deprivation. You’re the one who felt the need to set an alarm.’

      Ali performed her most serious stretch while whistling ‘New York, New York’. It was like watching some freaks’ talent show.

      ‘And no one asked you to unpack for me.’ Maybe she was rechargeable. A couple of hours plugged into the mains and good as new. Now she was practically bouncing on the spot.

      ‘It was a pleasure. Love you too.’

      The door closed—and opened again almost immediately. What now?

      ‘Hey, Daddy Warbucks, the Times and the Journal. I want you fully up to speed by the time I get back.’

      The thud of broadsheet on carpet preceded the click of the room door and, relieved to finally be alone, Ben exhaled as he closed his eyes and fleetingly imagined himself on the treadmill. He could always go down and surprise her. Just a couple more seconds.

      One of the things he loved most about living in England was the fact that everyone he knew talked about going to the gym whilst in the pub and, with the exception of January, they didn’t quite get there. As long as you paid your membership and could theoretically go and work out instead of hitting a bar, you actually felt fitter. And anyway, he always walked up escalators. Well, if he wasn’t carrying heavy bags…

      Suddenly dimly aware that he was on the verge of his deepest sleep yet, Ben jerked awake. Sitting up far too fast, a wave of numbing pins and needles swept up his body as he stared at the alarm clock. It had only been a few minutes. Reaching for the remote he allowed himself a quick pre-shower television moment while his body came to terms with the fact that sleeping opportunities were over for the day.

      He surfed fast and purposefully. If his career wasn’t going to be spiritually rewarding or making a difference, it could at least be paying better. He needed to be thinking format. Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? He did. Such a simple idea. Just sadly not his.

      Flicking between MTV and VH1, now he was awake he needed sustenance—even if the only growing he was doing these days was outwards. Leaning over, he tried the bedside drawer—Manhattan Super Pages and a pristine Holy Bible. In a single movement he rolled over to the other side of the bed. Nothing. Forcing himself into the vertical position, he padded across to the desk and checked the drawers.

      Bingo. 1 x folder containing everything you would ever want to know about the hotel and its environs, including the extensive Room Service menu, and 1 x nondescript black hardback book. Moments later breakfast for two was on order and Ben was back in the horizontal position. But with the MTV channels on a simultaneous ad break, cartoons and infomercials on almost every channel that wasn’t showing the news, and Ali’s glossy magazines proving to be totally resistible, Ben opened the black book at a random page.

      ‘If anyone calls from The Carlyle put them through immediately…’

      Please. Mel mouthed the word silently as she rolled her eyes at no one in particular from her desk outside Sam’s office.

      ‘…and I need those file notes typed up as soon as you’ve got a moment.’

      ‘Will do.’

      Sam dialled the next number without even looking at the keypad.

      ‘Good afternoon, Greenberg Brownstein. EJ Rutherford’s office.’

      ‘Hi, is she there?’ Sam took another sip of her cranberry juice on the off chance that her nausea might be attributable to dehydration rather than the projection of what just might be in a no holds barred, worst-case scenario. Never before had she wanted to be able to turn back time. Where were Michael J. Fox and his customised DeLorean when she needed them?

      ‘Who’s calling?’ Standard screening procedure and a success-related perk. When your firm charges you out at nearly four hundred pounds an hour you get a full-time secretary-shaped filter to allow you to select who you speak to.

      ‘Sam Washington.’

      She СКАЧАТЬ