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‘I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s a great property,’ the real estate agent nodded encouragingly at Jake. ‘Competitive rates, excellent square-footage, close proximity to the better business areas of the city and the scope for a wide catchment area for your practice.’
‘Great …’ Jake replied, but he wasn’t really listening. He was still smiling from the conversation he’d enjoyed last night. This pact idea had legs: and finding the right premises for his business was the perfect place to start.
‘But please, don’t take my word for it,’ the over-eager agent rushed, ‘let me show you around and I assure you the property will speak for itself.’
Jake followed the agent around the empty office space, barely noticing the freshly painted walls and brand new carpet at his feet. It was light and airy, in the right location and with more than enough scope for his practice to expand in time – but he had made all of these observations within minutes of arriving and now his brain could focus on other things. As the agent eulogised the benefits of the building, Jake’s thoughts returned again to last night.
Why didn’t I ask for her number?
He had seen her wave goodbye as a man he presumed was her brother hurried her out of the apartment, so at least he knew she hadn’t fled the moment she’d had the chance. But in the cold light of day, was her participation in their conversation little more than classic British politeness? She was alone at the party and so was he: she was also a little worse for wear from champagne and wine and he had drunk more bourbon than he’d intended. Was it simply a case of shared experience to get through an otherwise excruciatingly embarrassing event?
‘Dr Steinmann?’
Jake stared dumbly at the real estate agent. ‘What?’
‘I said, staff. Will you be having any?’
‘Yes. I’ll start recruiting as soon as I secure premises.’ The thought of finding an assistant even half as competent as the wonderful Pam Lomas he had left back in San Francisco filled Jake with dread. Pam had done everything for him bar actually counselling his clients. She knew what he would ask for almost before he thought to ask for it, ran the office like a well-oiled, military machine and was the kind of person you would happily entrust your life to in an emergency. There was nothing about his practice that Pam didn’t know. Would he ever find someone with her level of loyalty and commitment in a city where trading up to a better job was a constant goal?
‘Then you can do no better than choose McKevitt Buildings as your practice base,’ the agent beamed, proud of his closing argument.
Jake stared at the agent’s self-satisfied smile and wondered if he would ever feel as much pleasure in his New York practice as the weasel-like little man clearly did in his profession. ‘OK. Thank you, Mr …?’
‘Howell-Brown,’ the agent reminded him, thrusting another business card into his hand. ‘Eugene Howell-Brown. I’m sorry. Did I forget to mention it?’ The question was loaded with accusation and Jake momentarily regretted forgetting the agent’s name so easily.
He did his best to return to the matter at hand; thinking about last night coupled with his hangover wasn’t helping him this morning. ‘Forgive me; it’s been a busy morning. I like the office, so I’ll take it.’
Eugene Howell-Brown forgot his passive-aggressive consternation and instantly sprang into action. ‘Wonderful! You will not regret this decision, Dr Steinmann. Now all I need from you are a couple of signatures and I’ll arrange for you to have the keys …’
Out on the too-bright sidewalk outside, Jake paused to take a breath. He needed to focus, to work his way through the list of tasks he had assigned himself today. There were recruiters to meet, office furniture and décor to choose and a million and one other jobs to attend to. But right now, they could wait. Before any of it could happen, Jake needed coffee.
In the sanctuary of a warmly lit coffee house nearby, he ordered an enormous black coffee. As he found a table hidden from the hubbub of other customers, his phone rang.
‘You haven’t called me. And you said you would.’
Jake smiled as the soothing voice of his former PA warmed his ear. ‘What can I tell you, Pam? I’m a disgrace.’
‘I was worried about you. You knew I would be. So? How’s life in the City That Sneers At You?’
‘And New York sends its love right back at you.’
‘Be serious.’
‘It’s good. A little weird to be back, but I haven’t been ridden out of town yet.’ Jake took a long sip of coffee and closed his eyes. ‘Actually, I just signed the lease on a new office building.’
‘Where?’
‘Just off Broadway. Near the Lincoln Center. It’s a good space: I think you’d approve.’
Pam’s snort made Jake grin. It was no secret what she thought of the East Coast in general and Manhattan specifically. In her college days she had interned at a law firm in New York for two months while staying with her aunt and the experience had apparently traumatised her for life. She had often said that the only native New Yorker she had ever liked was Jake. Coming from a woman as set in her opinions as Pam, this was the ultimate compliment.
Jake decided to move to safer territory. ‘How’s the new job? Is your new employer as devastatingly handsome as I am?’
Now it was Pam’s turn to laugh. ‘He’s tidier. And pays me more. But no, he isn’t a patch on you. You’re very hard to replace, Dr Steinmann.’
‘Oh, if only that were true.’ He didn’t mean to say it out loud; but of all the people who could have heard it, Pam understood more than most.
‘Tell me she hasn’t—’
‘Afraid so. I’ve had the papers for a week.’
‘And you’re going to sign them?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t signed them yet. I will, I guess, just not yet.’
‘That woman doesn’t deserve you,’ Pam retorted. ‘I’m sorry, Jake, but you don’t pay my salary any more so I can say it. You’re better off without her. Sign the papers and get on with your life.’
Her forthrightness took Jake aback – in all the time they had worked together Pam had been very guarded in her comments on his private life, even though he often guessed what her opinions were. ‘You think?’
‘I do. In fact, I think it’s the only way. You talk to your clients about closure all the time: I’ve heard you. You can’t make her change her mind. But you can change your response to it.’
Jake laughed despite the sinking feeling Pam’s words caused. ‘Pam Lomas, are you psychoanalysing me?’
‘Maybe I am, Doctor. Maybe you need to hear it. Look, I can’t tell you what to do. I just care about you and I know you’re not happy. Ultimately it’s up to you how you move on. But you need to move on …’
When the call ended, Jake stared into the dark depths of his filter coffee. He hadn’t expected to hear it from his former employee, but Pam was right: he needed to take control of the situation. If only he’d reached this conclusion last night, when the possibility to take a new step had presented itself …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_967c0744-ac89-5d5d-b100-8af6c9696146)
Beads & Beans craft and coffee store, Brooklyn (#ulink_967c0744-ac89-5d5d-b100-8af6c9696146)
‘So, let me get this straight: you spent all night talking to a cute guy and you didn’t ask for his number?’
The look on Imelda Coulson’s face said it all. Bea groaned as her friend observed her from the top step of a rickety stepladder, a cluster of knitted clouds in her hand.
‘Of course I didn’t,’ Bea replied. ‘And I never said he was cute! It was just nice to meet somebody who understood my point of view.’
Imelda snorted and began to hang the clouds from small hooks in the ceiling. ‘A point of view that you’re hiding behind.’
‘I’m not hiding …’
‘Yes, you are. Admit it, honey: if Otis hadn’t stood you up that night you’d still be with him and you’d still be a firm believer in relationships.’
The mention of Otis made Bea wince. She might have succeeded in telling everyone else she didn’t miss him but she had a long way to go to convince herself. She didn’t want to feel this way. She wanted to feel as happy being single as she had spent many hours telling Russ, her parents and Imelda she was. But she had invested five years of her life in building something with Otis. It was unrealistic to think she could walk away from that unscathed.
‘That’s immaterial. Otis did stand me up and it was the last straw. He isn’t going to change and I’m not prepared to put my life on hold waiting for a miracle.’
‘But you’re still in love with him?’ Imelda pulled no punches and Bea was winded by the direct question.
‘Maybe I am. Or maybe it’s been slipping away from me for months, only I wasn’t prepared to notice.’ She sighed and moved to the side as Imelda descended the steps. ‘There’s no point trying to work that one out. I just want to focus on me for a change. Is that so wrong?’
Imelda’s expression softened and she put her hand on Bea’s shoulder. ‘Of course it’s not wrong. I just want you to be happy.’
‘So do I. That’s why I want to find out how to do that by myself.’
‘O-K …’ Imelda shrugged, about as satisfied with Bea’s answer as Bea was. ‘How’s Russ been?’
That was a good question. Russ had veered between insisting that all Bea needed was time to forgive his best friend and standing staunchly alongside her in her decision. At least he seemed to have finally got the message that Bea didn’t want to talk about it now, after a week of berating her at every opportunity. Bea was relieved to feel the pressure lessen: what she wanted now was to focus on the bookstore.
‘I think he knows not to push me on it.’
Imelda smiled as she sorted through a basket of knitted meteorological symbols for her window display. ‘The guy cares about you. In his own klutzy way. And I think he’s a little embarrassed about his friend. After all, if it wasn’t for Russ, you and Otis would never have met.’
A brief memory of the party where Russ had introduced Bea to his ‘legitimate single friend who most definitely isn’t gay’ flashed across Bea’s mind and she felt her stomach twist in response. Otis Greene had caught her attention immediately, with his velvet-smooth olive skin, dark eyes that seemed to call her closer and toned body visible beneath the contours of his well-cut shirt and jeans. When he smiled, it was as if a pause button had been pressed on the rest of the scene in the bar: suddenly it was just him and her, smiles spreading as their eyes drank in the sight of one another. Bea had fallen hard and fast for the handsome art dealer – a fact she could trace back to that first meeting – and that initial surge of emotion had carried her through years of not-so-perfect times.
She didn’t want to still love Otis. She wanted to push him and everything in her life connected to him into the Hudson River and walk away, never looking back. But Bea knew her own heart. That was why striking out on her own was so important.
‘I understand why Russ tried to get us back together. I do. He’s stuck between Otis and me and I don’t suppose it’s ever been a particularly comfortable position.’
‘Shame you didn’t ask for the barman’s number, then,’ Imelda winked, twirling a large knitted raindrop around her forefinger as she ascended the stepladder again. ‘Could have solved a lot of problems …’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway: we made a pact.’
‘Who did?’
‘Me and the barman. We’re swearing off relationships for good.’
Imelda groaned. ‘Bea …’
‘No, it made me feel better, Immi. I’ve wasted too much of my life chasing something that hasn’t happened. My life is worth more than that. It was good to find someone else in this city who sees it like I do.’
‘Trust you to find a cute guy who doesn’t want to date you,’ Imelda laughed. ‘Hey, I’m not making fun of you. If it makes you happy, go for it.’
‘I think it will make me happy.’
‘Good, then. Now, do you have time for coffee before Russ sends out a search party?’
Russ had practically bundled Bea out of the bookstore that morning, seeing how distracted she was by the events of the night before.
‘You’re no use this morning. Go for a walk or something.’
Bea had instinctively headed for Beads & Beans, the quirky craft and coffee shop owned by the third Musketeer to her and Russ. Imelda Coulson had been Bea’s firm friend for almost five years and was as unconventional as her business suggested.
Imelda’s store was a riot of colour, filled with every craft item imaginable. Rainbow skeins of embroidery silks and wool were packed next to roll after roll of beautiful ribbons and trims. Almost an entire wall was filled with tiny wooden drawers containing buttons, charms, quill papers, sequins and fastenings, each drawer front bearing a hand-painted sign. Next to the haberdashery supplies were thick bolts of brightly patterned fabrics – shimmering satins, cool cottons and thick, luxurious velvets. In the centre, tables and chairs were set out, each one painted in a different pastel shade and customers congregated here, indulging in crafts while enjoying coffee and cakes on hand-painted crockery.
Bea loved it here: the strong sense of creativity and fun mirrored the boundless positivity of the store’s proprietor. It was impossible not to smile when you were surrounded by so much colour and possibility. She had first met Imelda at a mutual friend’s Christmas party and they quickly struck up a friendship, Bea drawn to Imelda’s fiercely optimistic stance on everything. They had talked about owning their own businesses one day and Bea never doubted that Imelda would succeed in her ambition. Then, around the time Russ and Bea were looking for properties to set up their bookstore, Imelda’s wish had unexpectedly come to pass.
Suddenly made redundant from her job at a Wall Street bank, she had seen it as a sign to move her life forward and had opened the business she had long dreamed of, uniting her two loves of great coffee and crafts. Only in Brooklyn could this unlikely pairing have worked. Surrounded by unusual, artisanal shops and kitsch cafés, it was a perfect fit. Imelda hosted children’s parties at weekends and various groups of craft enthusiasts and local people interested in learning new skills during the week. Everybody else came in for coffee and the unique experience of sitting in a place alive with activity and fun.
‘So how long were you and the barman talking for?’
Bea shrugged. ‘An hour, maybe? I wasn’t exactly watching the time.’
Imelda peered over the rim of her oversized coffee cup. ‘Unusual to have a conversation that lasts a whole hour which doesn’t mean anything, don’t you think? Especially if you’re still thinking about it this morning. Just what did you talk about?’
Bea couldn’t hide her smile at the memory. ‘Everything and nothing. How much we loved New York, how embarrassing it was to be single at an engagement party filled with happy couples and …’ She trailed off as the pinky shake pact came to mind.
‘And what?’
‘And then he suggested The Pact. And it was the most perfect idea I’d heard in ages. So I agreed.’
Imelda’s expression didn’t flicker, leaving Bea in no doubt of her opinion. ‘So now you need to hope that your pact-buddy will be tending the bar at the next party you go to.’
Bea had to admit that it would be good to talk to the barman again. Their conversation about the benefits of singledom had been a lot of fun. ‘As if that’s likely to happen. Apart from in your head.’
Imelda grinned. ‘Hey, my head is a nice place to be, believe me. I’m just saying, honey, it’s possible that last night was an opportunity you were meant to take. And in my experience, if life wants you to take a certain road, you’ll end up coming back to it time and time again. My great-aunt Lavinia always says life is like the baggage carousel at the airport: if you don’t collect your case first time around it will keep passing you until you do.’
Bea wasn’t sure if Jake could be compared with a suitcase – or if Imelda’s batty great-aunt’s philosophy carried any grain of truth – but it made her smile nevertheless.
‘Excuse me, do you have air-drying clay?’ A customer peered over the counter.
‘We do,’ Imelda replied, casting a wink in Bea’s direction as she headed into the store to find it.
On her own again, Bea considered what her friend had suggested. Meeting Jake had been a fluke.
Hadn’t it?
The thought was still playing on her mind that evening when Bea finally arrived home from the bookstore. Feeling better after talking with Imelda, she had returned to Hudson River Books and thrown herself into work, much to Russ’ relief.
It was almost seven p.m. when she turned her key in the front door of her apartment, swinging the paper bag of Chinese food onto the breakfast bar before taking off her coat. The thought of what had happened last night and the possibility that it might be the start of a new chapter of her life intrigued her. Not that she thought for a minute that Jake had anything to do with her future. But the very fact that she had met somebody engaging and different when only days before she had been at her lowest ebb was enough to give her hope. Relationships might be a thing of the past for her, but at least New York had proved it still had the ability to surprise her. Perhaps if the luggage carousel of life was turning in her favour, a new friend might be on the way …
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ulink_183b3ff3-00d3-5ea9-b40c-cc5094404f2d)
Jake’s new office, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway (#ulink_183b3ff3-00d3-5ea9-b40c-cc5094404f2d)
Jake studied the long list of possible PA candidates in his notebook, acutely aware of how long this day was going to be. In the week following Rosie and Ed’s engagement party he had been making a determined effort to focus on practical matters, with an impressive rate of success. All around him, plastic-wrapped office furniture, still-boxed computers and a rather impressive counselling couch were testament to his recent activities. He had already confirmed details of the final design with his interior decorator and the team of painters would begin work in two days, leaving him this window of time to recruit new staff for the practice.
But there was where the problem lay: the search for a suitable replacement for Pam was proving tricky. The recruitment consultant Jake had contracted from a prestigious Manhattan personnel agency had assured him that all the shortlisted candidates were amply qualified. According to the CVs laid out on his new desk, the excellent SAT scores, Ivy League degrees and proven aptitude for clinical administration promised great things. But so far this morning, Jake had been faced with a seemingly never-ending stream of humourless, ambitious airheads bearing no resemblance to the ideal-on-paper candidates whatsoever.
‘My inspiration is Kim Kardashian,’ one candidate had earnestly informed him, ‘because of her business acumen.’ She had emphasised the words as if to add gravitas to her argument. Jake, his smile as steady as he could keep it, had nodded knowingly as he carefully drew a definite line through her name.
Another woman had blatantly misread the job description before applying for the post and was most surprised to learn that a psychiatrist did a vastly different job to a psychic. Yet another laughed when Jake asked whether she enjoyed the challenge of office administration, answering: ‘Are you nuts? It’s like dying slowly on your feet. I just need a job until my agent finds me the right movie …’
How was it possible for so many supposedly well-educated young women to be so devoid of personality, common sense or intellect? Jake strongly suspected the recruiter’s mention that the prospective client was a newly single young doctor with expensive Manhattan offices might have had more to do with the interviewees’ enthusiasm to apply for the job than their natural aptitude.
‘Why do you want to work at this practice?’ he asked the latest candidate, a softly spoken twenty-something who had listed Friedrich Nietzsche as one of her major life influences on her résumé but, when pressed, couldn’t recall any of his theories.
‘I think working for you could meet my career aspirations.’
