I’ll Take New York. Miranda Dickinson

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ