‘Sorry,’ I say to her with a smile. ‘You must think I’m a sour old killjoy. I just wanted to get away from Andrei’s generosity for a while and it seems that he isn’t going to let me.’
‘Maybe it’s not him,’ Laura suggests. ‘Maybe it’s Mark. An early Christmas present, or something.’
‘I suppose that’s possible. Caroline might have made the changes.’ I frown. ‘In fact, I might have told her we were staying at the Washington now I think about it.’
‘There you are then.’ Laura’s face clears. ‘It must be Mark. That’s good. We can enjoy it with a good conscience now, can’t we?’
I nod. I’m not convinced but I don’t want to spoil Laura’s fun.
The driver stops in front of a fashionable-looking hotel with a steep flight of steps into an amazing lobby.
‘The Soho Grand,’ he announces.
‘Wow!’ sighs Laura, her eyes shining. ‘I’ve heard about this place, I’ve always wanted to come here. It’s supposed to be amazing!’
‘Looks like we don’t have any choice,’ I say sardonically, as porters and doormen rush up to help us out and into the hotel lobby. I guess that we don’t look like high-end guests as the receptionist is friendly but cool until she types our names into her system with her perfectly manicured nails. Her eyes widen with quickly concealed surprise as she gazes at her screen and then she turns to us with a bright smile.
‘Ladies, we’re so excited that you’re going to be joining us for your stay. You’re going to love the Loft North, it’s our most amazing suite.’
‘Suite,’ breathes Laura, her face alight with excitement.
Suite, I think crossly. Not just a room. A goddamned suite. A loft. That doesn’t sound like Mark’s style to me. It sounds much more like a man with limitless resources who always expects the best.
Well, whaddya know?
The hotel is incredible. Everywhere there is colour and stylish good taste that mixes contemporary and vintage sensibilities, from the lobby with its turquoise leather seats to the Victorian-style industrial wrought iron staircase. We can’t stop gazing about us, drinking in the gorgeous surroundings and the fashionable people who are everywhere, sitting chatting on sofas, drinking in the bars, reading in the library area. This is so cool.
We’re ushered to a lift by a very polite young man, who takes us up the many flights to the top of the hotel. Then he unlocks the door of the loft and shows us in. We walk in, open-mouthed as we gaze about it.
‘Oh my God,’ breathes Laura. ‘This is like my dream apartment come to life.’
She’s right. There’s very little of the hotel room about this place. It looks like somewhere you’d want to live. It’s modern and yet completely stylishly timeless with its mixture of surfaces and textures: wood, concrete, marble, leather, suede and velvet. The sitting room is perfectly judged, with comfortable-looking sofas and armchairs covered with cashmere throws and luxurious cushions, and a desk set up with a Mac computer and iPad. On the shelves and tables there are ornaments and books, while on the walls are beautifully framed black-and-white shots of New York life in the fifties.
‘Over here is your fully stocked bar,’ the young man says, showing us a concrete bar with leather stools in front of an array of bottles. ‘Let me show you the bedrooms.’ He leads us to the master bedroom, a huge space decorated in tones of taupe and stone with a contrasting pony-skin ottoman. Its bathroom has a luxurious deep free-standing slipper bath as well as a huge shower.
‘I think this had better be yours,’ says Laura, giving me a sideways look.
‘I won’t fight you on that,’ I say with a smile. I’ve decided to relax and enjoy this amazing place. For one thing, I don’t have a choice, and for another, I don’t want to spoil the atmosphere by being a grouch. And it is incredible, there’s no denying that . . .
We’re led back through to the suite to the second bedroom, which is only marginally smaller than the first and has its own bathroom as well. Back in the sitting room, our guide says, ‘You’ve got a plasma television, of course, with surround sound and a selection of films. You have a full-time concierge service with instant response, so ask for anything you want at any time. The iPad over there is loaded with information about the area, where to go and what to see. And of course, the terrace is there for you as well.’ He gestures to what is possibly the best thing about the room – the enormous private terrace with its extraordinary view over lower Manhattan all the way to the Empire State. ‘We can have heaters lit outside for you if you’re feeling the cold.’ He smiles. ‘Is that everything, ladies? Any questions or shall I leave you to settle in?’
‘That’s great, thank you,’ I say, and remember we’re supposed to tip in New York. I pull a five-dollar bill out of my purse and hand it to him. ‘We’ll ask if there’s anything else.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, pocketing the money with a smile and a bow. ‘Enjoy your stay with us.’
As soon as he’s gone, Laura and I stare at each other, unable to believe what’s just happened. We’re in one of the best rooms in New York. We clutch each other’s hands and start jumping up and down, shrieking and laughing with disbelief.
‘There’s only one problem,’ Laura says, when we’ve calmed down enough to talk.
‘Yes?’ What could possibly be wrong with this place?
‘I love this room so much, I don’t want to go out. We’re not going to see any of New York at all!’
It’s lucky we made some plans because without them we might not have stirred from our luxurious apartment, but we have a timetable of things we want to see and do while we’re in this amazing city.
After settling into our suite and trying out all the amenities, including ordering a delicious lunch of crab salad and smoked salmon, we head out on foot, determined to see all we can before it gets dark. It’s cold outside but we’re well wrapped up and full of excitement. We take the subway uptown and make our first scheduled stop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and while away a few hours looking at some of the masterpieces there. Then we venture into Central Park, where it’s already getting dark, and buy hot chocolate and salty pretzels from a stall. We wander around talking about all the things we want to do while we’re here. I’m aware of a weight off my shoulders for the first time in ages. I feel carefree here, and it’s great to be with Laura, just two friends together. Romantic bliss is wonderful, but this is just plain fun.
My only worry is that Andrei is obviously throwing around a lot of cash to give us first-class flights, limos and that stunning hotel room. It’s exactly the kind of extravagant gesture that would appeal to him. Mark would never choose a hotel like the Grand, and he certainly wouldn’t book the penthouse suite. And the way Andrei second-guessed that I’d insist on leaving the Four Seasons has his cunning hallmark on it. I don’t like the idea of that one bit – he’s pulling me ever deeper into his debt with these expensive gifts and, worse than that, I don’t like the fact that he knows exactly where we are. Even while we’re wandering through the galleries of the Met, or strolling through Central Park as darkness falls and the lights begin to glitter, I can’t help wondering if someone is watching us. Every now and then I glance over my shoulder to see if we’re being observed, but I spot no one. Eventually my paranoia begins to wear off. There’s no sign that we’re being followed and I tell myself that no one could possibly have tailed us on the subway or round the museum. It’s in my imagination.
Back at the hotel, we enjoy long baths before getting dressed to go out. We’ve been up for hours and it’s the middle of the night our time, but we’re still fizzing with excitement. The iPad supplies us with plenty of suggestions for dinner and the concierge books us a table at the place we choose.
Before we go out that evening in our glamorous dresses and high heels, I check my email inbox. There’s one from Dominic.
Hey gorgeous girl, did you get to New York okay? Are you enjoying yourself? Tell me everything. Can’t wait to see you when you’re back
.
D x
I hesitate for a moment before I go to type a reply. Do I tell him what Andrei has done? Won’t it infuriate him? What’s the point in upsetting him?
No more secrets, I remind myself.
Yes, but I’m going to tell him. I don’t want to ruin his day by making him furious. It’ll be better when I explain everything face to face.
I type back:
Hi sweetie
Yes, we got here fine with a couple of interesting adventures. We’re having a fab time but can’t write more now, we’re going out for dinner. Shopping tomorrow, skating at Madison Square Gardens, seeing Frick collection. All amazing.
Can’t wait to see you too
B x x
I stare at my message, reading it back. Should I tell him about our upgrades?
Laura comes in, looking wonderful in a tight black silky dress with flowing sleeves and dark gold glittering shoes. ‘Come on, Beth, we’ll be late. Our reservation is in ten minutes.’
‘Coming, coming.’ I hesitate for a second and then press send.
CHAPTER TEN
Over the next two days, we have an unforgettable time in New York. We see so much, visiting the literary sights that mean so much to Laura, and the artistic ones that appeal to me. We both enjoy doing the touristy things as well, like going to the top of the Empire State. I adore the Frick collection and the stunning modern works at MOMA, and just soaking up the atmosphere in the glamorous Village. There’s also the added thrill of Christmas that gives a special sparkle to all our shopping: on one afternoon we see about twenty Santas walking around Fifth Avenue and we can’t resist a horse-drawn carriage ride around a frosty New York driven by Father Christmas himself.
We have a marvellous time, either enjoying the luxury of our loft suite and the way our every need is answered almost before we’re aware of it, or seeing the sights of Manhattan. Even though I love being with Laura and all the giggles we have, I can’t help missing Dominic. When Laura and I snuggle up in our carriage with a rug over our knees, I wish suddenly and fervently that he was here to wrap his arms around me and kiss me tenderly as we’re pulled through Central Park, the bells on the reins jingling and our Father Christmas calling out ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ in just the best fairy-tale way.
I get another message from Dominic that I pick up on the Mac in our suite, but it only asks if I’m having a good time and tells me that he’s broken his personal best on the black run, so I just give him the highlights. After all, I’m home on Monday evening and once all this excitement is over, I can tell him about the weird things that have happened.
On Monday morning, when we’re tired but still not wanting to go back home even though our flight is in the evening, I get an email. As soon as I see it, my heart starts to pound and my palms dampen. I hadn’t realised how much Andrei has been on my mind throughout this weekend until I see his name in black print on the screen.
Beth.
My housekeeper tells me that you still haven’t been to my apartment. Are you intending to go? Please let me know.
A
It’s the intrusion of cold, hard reality. I’ve been lost in a pleasant world of enjoying myself with Laura. I’ve always known that at home my problems still await me but I’ve let myself forget them for a while. This email reminds me that they can’t really be banished.
I call Laura, who’s been out on our terrace taking photos of our incredible view. She comes in, her nose glowing from the frosty air outside.
‘Oh, Beth, I can’t believe this is our last day. I don’t want to go home!’
‘Me neither – it’s been amazing. But, listen, would you mind if we make some last-minute changes to the day? I know we need to be on our way to the airport at seven and we had some plans but I’ve had an email from Andrei – I need to go to his place. It won’t take long, and he won’t be there. Would that be okay?’
Laura sits down on the arm of my chair and looks at the screen. ‘Are you kidding? I bet his apartment will be amazing, I’d love to see it.’
I smile at her. ‘Great. I’ll let his housekeeper know that we’ll drop in today.’
Andrei’s apartment is on the edge of Central Park in a splendid building that looks like a Victorian Gothic castle, ornate with carving and embellishment. We approach it hardly believing that we’re going to be allowed into somewhere so grand, but when we tell the doorman that we’re here to visit Mr Dubrovski’s apartment and he’s checked our names, we’re ushered in through the carved arched doorway and then through to a huge, impressive hallway where a porter in gold-trimmed livery waits for us.
‘Mr Dubrovski’s housekeeper is expecting us,’ I say loftily, trying to sound as though I’m the kind of person who ought to be waved through these hallowed portals but probably sounding completely stupid. Laura hovers at my elbow, her eyes wide as though waiting for us to be told to sling our hooks, in which case she’d probably be straight out the door.
The porter checks a list he has somewhere under the lip of the desk and nods. ‘Yes, you’re expected. Please go up to the eighteenth floor.’
The lift is extraordinary, nestled behind two sliding wrought-iron gates and containing a red velvet seat below a big gilt-framed mirror. I press the large black button and the lift rises smoothly to the eighteenth floor. We emerge into a thickly carpeted corridor and right in front of us is a huge mahogany door with golden numbers on it reading 755.
‘That’s it,’ I say to Laura.
‘Okay.’ Her eyes are huge and she looks quite scared. This is the most unpredictable part of our trip so far.
‘Come on. Let’s get it over with.’ I stride forward and knock on the door. A moment later it’s opened by a smartly dressed woman in her forties with a sharp dark bob. She says nothing but looks enquiringly at us.
‘My name is Beth Villiers,’ I say tentatively. ‘Mr Dubrovski said I should come.’
Her face softens immediately and she stands back to let us in. ‘Yes, of course,’ she says in a surprisingly friendly voice. ‘I got your message. Come in.’
I walk inside, Laura close behind me. At once we see the extreme luxury of the place: everything is shiny, polished, expensive and in perfect taste, from the floor of white and green checked marble to the polished ebony lampstands. Like Andrei’s apartment in Albany, this place is done in a strong neo-classical style but it’s noticeable that there are no pictures on any of the walls.
I guess this is where I come in.
‘I’ll show you around,’ says the housekeeper, leading us into a beautifully decorated room with a stunning view over the park: as far as we can see from the broad windows, there is the spread of the park edged with beautiful buildings. In the sitting room itself a polished grand piano sits by the window, and comfortable sofas face each other over padded ottomans loaded with beautiful art books.
‘This is the informal sitting room,’ explains the housekeeper and she proceeds to lead us through a dozen more rooms including a long wooden-floored room hung with huge crystal chandeliers, which she calls the ballroom.
‘Incredible,’ breathes Laura as we follow the housekeeper from room to room. ‘This is amazing. Imagine what it must be worth!’
I don’t say anything – this doesn’t surprise me, but then, I know Andrei. Even as we climb a staircase to another floor with six luxurious bedrooms, the master bedroom with a sunken marble bath, I feel as though this is exactly what I would expect him to own. It’s incredible and expensive but there’s something missing: a real heart and a sense of someone with passions and interests who actually lives here. I know that’s what he wants me to add to his home with my choice of art. I remember how cool the Albany apartment seemed until the paintings were up. The beautiful Fragonard portrait I bought for his bathroom made the room come alive. That’s what this place needs.
We return to the lower floor and the housekeeper takes us back to the first room we entered – the cosy small sitting room with its view of Central Park.
‘
Can I get you some coffee?’ asks the housekeeper. ‘Tea?’
I check my watch. We only have a few hours before we need to be back at the hotel to pack and catch our taxi to the airport. ‘I’m not sure . . .’ I say.
‘Yes please, I’d love some coffee,’ pipes up Laura. As the housekeeper goes out, she turns to me with an impish smile and nudges me playfully. ‘Come on! How often are we going to get to hang out in a place like this? It’s our last few hours in New York. Let’s live it up a little.’
‘Okay,’ I say, reluctant to tell her that I don’t feel right in this place. It makes me think of all the many ways Andrei wants to control me. I only feel able to give myself, surrender myself, to someone who loves and cherishes me. Without that, I couldn’t dream of submitting myself. Just being in this apartment makes me aware of how my relationship with Andrei isn’t like that at all.
We sit in that magnificent apartment that makes us feel as though we’re floating over the park. The housekeeper brings us coffee and hazelnut biscuits and then leaves us to enjoy them. Laura chatters on and I listen, but I’m eager to be off.
‘Are you all right?’ enquires Laura, nibbling a biscuit. ‘You’re awfully quiet.’
‘Yes . . . but I want to get back to the hotel,’ I say.
‘You’re right,’ Laura says. She drains her coffee cup and puts it back on the saucer. ‘This is a home but it feels a million times colder and less welcoming than our lovely loft. Let’s go back and enjoy it while we can.’
The housekeeper walks us to the door to let us out. ‘I believe we’ll be seeing some more of you very soon, Miss Villiers,’ she says as she opens the huge polished doors on to the corridor.
Promises After Dark (After Dark Book 3) Page 12
