‘Perhaps,’ I reply.
‘And you’re leaving today?’ she asks. ‘This evening?’
‘That’s right. We’re going to the airport in a few hours,’ I say. I want to warm to this outwardly friendly woman but somehow I can’t. I feel reluctant to say too much.
‘Have a wonderful trip home.’ She smiles at Laura. ‘And you too, miss.’
‘Thank you. We will!’ Laura gives her a broad, open smile. I envy her the ability to trust anyone who’s in the employment of Andrei Dubrovski.
‘Goodbye!’ I say, trying to hide my impatience to be on our way. ‘Come on, Laura, we’ve got to get going.’
In the taxi on the way downtown I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I didn’t feel right in that apartment at all. The whole time we were there, I felt under observation. While Laura is gushing about the beautiful apartment and how lucky I’ll be to work there, all I can think is how happy I am to be out of it, and how little I ever want to go back.
It’s sad to return to our loft apartment. We’ve had a wonderful time there and it feels like home even though we’ve been there such a short time. Laura has booked a last massage in our suite and while she’s being pummelled and smoothed, I take the opportunity to log into my email and catch up. I’ve been sending my parents updates about the trip and I want to upload some pictures and send them.
As soon as I log in, I see a message to me marked urgent. I click on it at once to open it. It’s from Caroline.
Dear Beth
I hope this reaches you in time! Good news – Mark is out of hospital. He made a great recovery in the last day or so and the doctors thought he’d be more comfortable back at home. He’s so much brighter, you wouldn’t recognise him. I told him you were in New York having a little holiday and he was very excited. I know you’ve probably already made plans but just in case you read this in time, Mark wants to know if you can stay on in New York for a few days. He has some meetings he’d like you attend, and a sale that’s coming up at Christie’s. He’ll pay for your new return ticket and a hotel room for however many nights you need. I can sort it all out from this end.
Let me know what you intend to do – and see you soon!
Best regards,
Caroline
I read the message three times before I absorb the contents properly. It’s hard to take it in and it’s only when Laura comes in and reads it over my shoulder that I understand.
‘Oh – you lucky thing!’ Laura exclaims. ‘You’re going to stay on here!’
‘But that means you’ll be going home on your own,’ I say with dismay. I was looking forward to our flight back together.
‘Yes.’ She looks a little downcast. ‘That’s not so great, but don’t worry, I’ve been completely jet-lagged since we got here so I’ll probably sleep all the way anyway.’ She gives me an envious look. ‘Does that mean you’re going to stay here in the loft?’
I laugh. ‘I don’t think Mark’s budget will stretch to that. I don’t know much the loft costs but I should think it’s several thousand a night. Besides, Caroline’s told me to find another hotel room.’ I don’t tell her that from Caroline’s email, it’s pretty clear that Mark didn’t pay for the loft.
Laura goes quiet. ‘I hadn’t really thought about that,’ she says after a minute, obviously a bit awed by what we’ve been given. ‘I’ll never forget this, I really won’t. Don’t worry that we’re not going home together, I’ve already had this incredible experience because of you. Stay on and enjoy yourself.’
‘It won’t be so much fun if I’m on my own – and working,’ I point out.
‘It’s still New York,’ she says with a grin.
I can’t argue with that.
Things move up a gear as Laura gets ready for the ride back to the airport and I look for another hotel room. I wonder about staying on in the Grand, where I’ve had a marvellous time, but I also feel like going to a totally new place. Andrei booked this, and as long as I’m here he’ll be able to keep tabs on me. I send an email to Caroline asking for her advice and she replies saying that she’ll book the hotel where Mark usually stays and send me through the details when it’s done, along with an itinerary of what Mark would like me to do.
It’s horrible saying goodbye to Laura as she climbs into the car that’s taking her to the airport. We hug each other hard.
‘See you back in London,’ Laura says. ‘It’s been amazing.’
‘I’ll be back before the end of the week,’ I promise.
‘You’d better,’ she grins.
‘I’ve got to be home for Christmas, haven’t I?’ I smile at her. ‘Have a good trip home.’
I can’t help my eyes prickling as the car drives off into the busy New York traffic, taking Laura away from me. I suddenly feel incredibly lonely.
‘Come on,’ I tell myself, ‘you’re strong. You can do this. Now, let’s get moving.’
I check out of the Grand and take a taxi to the address that Caroline’s given me. It’s in a leafy, residential part of the city dominated by those large houses they call brownstones. The place I’m staying looks like a private house except for the flagpole protruding from the front and the six twinkling Christmas trees on the pediment above the front door.
I go up the steps and push open the heavy polished wooden front door, smiling to myself as I go in. This place is so Mark: it’s like an elegant gentlemen’s club done in very good taste with excellent paintings adorning the walls. The aesthetic is modern country house, and I can understand why Mark would feel right at home here.
The receptionist is friendly but businesslike. ‘Miss Villiers? Welcome. The bellboy will take you up to your room. Enjoy your stay with us. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. Mr Palliser is a very good friend of ours so we’re anxious to make your stay as pleasant as possible.’
As I’m shown into another hotel room and tip another bellboy for bringing up my luggage, it occurs to me that I’ve been in more hotels in the last few months than I have in my entire life, and not just any hotels – some of the best in the world, in St Petersburg, Paris and New York.
But, as I look around my comfortable new room, I can’t help wishing that Dominic was here to share it with me.
I start work for Mark the next morning. I’m very glad of Caroline’s detailed itinerary and the maps she supplies because as soon as I’m off the tourist trail, New York becomes a lot more complicated. Now I’m looking for art galleries in expensive but obscure parts of town or off the beaten track, locating offices inside vast skyscrapers in midtown or heading uptown or even into Brooklyn to find dealers in their lairs. Once there, I introduce myself and talk about Mark’s latest finds, show his catalogue and examine others, taking notes on current exhibitions and interesting finds. I flag any sales that are coming up and the gossip about any big buyers who are displaying a yen for a particular artist or style. I’m constantly scrawling memos to myself or typing up reports to email to Mark so that he knows every detail of what’s going on. Within a day or so, I begin to feel quite the New Yorker, stepping out confidently to hail cabs, or dashing down into the subway, battling through the Christmas crowds, clutching a take-out coffee and a bagel. I get used to eating alone but while breakfast and lunch I can do on the run, I order room service from the hotel in the evenings and eat in my room. It’s not much fun but I can’t face going to the dining room on my own, and at least in my room I can watch television or read, which gives me a little company.
I can also check my emails. Laura writes to tell me she’s safely back and that she went first class all the way. I wonder what Andrei makes of that, and I’ve only been in my new hotel for a night when the first message comes through:
Beth,
Why didn’t you take your return flight? Where are you?
A.
I stare at it, feeling pleased that I’ve managed to escape out from under Andrei’s observation. I suppose that as long as I was at the Soho Grand, he knew where to find me. Now I’ve slipped out of
view and he doesn’t like that at all.
I don’t reply. Instead, I send a message to Dominic.
Hi sweetie
Guess what, Mark’s asked me to stay on in New York for a bit and work, how about that!! It’s amazing here, I’m really enjoying it but I’m working hard. No more shopping and cocktails for me, but Laura and I had a brilliant time together. I’ll be home at the end of the week and then heading back to my parents for Christmas. Where are you? What are you doing? When can we see each other? I miss you. I LONG for you in every way.
All my love
Beth
The next day, there’s another message from Andrei.
Beth,
Tell me where you are immediately.
A.
I laugh softly to myself. Ha, ha, Mr Control. You don’t like this much, do you? Well, I’m not your possession and you don’t own me. But I don’t want to enrage the tiger too much, in case he loses control and decides to let out his claws. I send back a brief reply.
Andrei,
I’m staying in New York for now.
B
I like that: as terse and direct as his own messages. There’s a reply from Dominic that’s all too short as well.
Gorgeous girl,
Exciting that you’re still in New York, where are you staying? Still firming up my Christmas plans. I’ll let you know. We’ll meet as soon as I’m free.
D x x
I know he’s busy but I still can’t help wishing he’d write me a little more in his messages. I send back another email telling him what I’ve been up to and where I am but he doesn’t reply immediately. Out on the black runs again, no doubt.
The upside is that my work is fascinating. I love what I’m learning about the international art market and how Mark works with his business rivals so that they can all make a good living in this curious world. The hours slide by almost with my noticing them and when I find myself sitting in a Christie’s auction, raising my paddle to bid for a Chagall, I practically have to pinch myself. The Chagall goes to a Chinese phone bidder in the end, but even so, I’m thrilled to have been there among all the other dealers. I have a coffee with the head of twentieth-century art afterwards and then return to my hotel for lunch before my afternoon appointment, which is in a part of town I haven’t been to before, uptown on the West Side.
I come out of the hotel and notice that the weather has definitely changed. The lucid blue skies have disappeared to be replaced with heavy low white-grey cloud that sucks all the light out of the day and seems heavy with snow. The temperature has dropped further and my feet feel numb in my shoes within a few moments of walking. I can’t really wear jeans and biker boots to my business appointments so I’m reduced to wearing the one pair of thin shoes I brought with me when I thought I was coming on a weekend jaunt, not a business trip. There hasn’t been time to buy anything else. Luckily the jacket I brought keeps me toasty on top but it doesn’t cover my thighs and my skirt is not particularly warm. Well, it’s only a few blocks till I get to the subway. I thrust my hands further down into my pockets, shove my chin down into my turned-up collar and walk faster to get my blood circulating.
Nevertheless, by the time I get to the subway station, I’m shivering and I head down into its warm atmosphere with relief. Down in the station, I look for the platform that will take me uptown to the right area. I’ve often found it confusing working out where I am and where I’m going, despite the simple grid system. Once I came out of the subway and didn’t realise I was facing the wrong way, so I started walking the mirror image of my route, heading in exactly the opposite direction. It took a while before I realised my mistake. I want to take a train that will stop up in the early hundreds, which I’ve read is the northern edge of the Upper West Side. I’ve looked at the map and while the address is not in the area I’ve become familiar with, it doesn’t seem too far away.
A train comes rumbling into the station and I think it’s the one I want, so I get on and sit down. I reach for my map and guidebook and instantly curse mentally to myself. I can see them right now on the little table in my room where I put them down at lunchtime and didn’t pick them up again. All my information is tucked inside my guidebook. I don’t even have the address of the dealer I’m supposed to be visiting.
I take out my phone and do a search on my email to find the details that Caroline sent me and I’m relieved to see that her email is there, along with the itinerary attachments. Good. When I get out at the other end I should be able to find where I need to go.
After a while I look up, becoming vaguely aware that we haven’t stopped at a station for a while now. In fact, I can see that we’re passing through stations without a pause, hurrying on uptown. What’s going on? Why aren’t we stopping?
My stomach swoops downwards as I realise that I must have taken an express train by mistake, one that races up towards the north missing out all the midtown stops. I feel a dart of fear – where will it stop? I imagine it flying up the length of the island, through a tunnel under the river and out into the upper boroughs of New York, depositing me in some strange faraway place.
I’m going to miss my appointment! I think, panicked.
The train rattles on and I try to keep calm. It’s perfectly simple. I can just catch a train back. There’s no need to worry, it’s going to be fine. The carriage is quite empty now, just scattered about with solemn-faced, silent New Yorkers. I hope I don’t look frightened. Horror stories of helpless tourists attacked and mugged start to flit through my mind.
Don’t be so silly. Just keep calm and you’ll be fine.
At last the train comes to a stop. I pick up my bag and get off, trying to give the impression that this is exactly where I meant to come. On impulse I put my ticket in the barrier and head out of the station. Once I’m above ground I’ll be able to access my emails and load a map so that I can see where I am.
Outside, it’s dark and now that I’m away from the well-lit centre of town, the sparkle and glitter of Manhattan is almost completely gone. I have no idea where I am, except that the streets are in the high 100s. I try to click on the attachments that Caroline sent so that I can view them. It might be quicker to walk to wherever this dealer is. While they’re loading, I try to open my map app, so that I can get some directions and locate my position.
I wait for ages, clicking and reclicking. Shit! Why can’t I access anything? I’m obviously out of range. I take out my phone battery and try rebooting it, but with the same result. I can’t get Internet access.
Shit, shit, shit!
I look around and see a man lingering nearby. He’s standing between me and the subway entrance, his back against a wall and his hands in his pockets. While he isn’t exactly looking in my direction, I can’t help feeling that he’s aware of me, maybe even watching me. And here I am, standing alone, fiddling with an expensive phone. What if he’s about to mug me?
There has to be a café or a bar nearby, I think, maybe one with Wi-Fi. I make an instant decision, turn away and start walking in the direction I think will take me towards downtown. I feel better as soon as I’m moving, but it’s bitterly cold now that I’m out of the station. I shiver and start walking as fast as I can, keeping my eyes open for a place I can get out of the cold, but I seem to be in a very residential district, walking down block after block of apartment buildings. There are shops, but none of them look like the kind of places I can walk into and warm up or find an Internet connection. Each time I see another, I decide to press on. It’s so cold my hands are numb and I can hardly press the buttons on my phone, which is still constantly loading but never delivering. My cheeks feel leathery under the biting wind and my feet have almost no sensation of the path as I walk along it.
Then I realise that the man I tried to avoid is walking behind me. I see him out of the corner of my eye and know with a nasty swirl of fear that he is following me. I recognise his hunched shape, the hands in the pockets.
Oh God, is he going to attack me?
I pick up my pace but my freezing feet refuse to go much faster. They are so numb that I stumble as I walk.
Damn this phone!
I daren’t take it out of my pocket now in case this guy wants to mug me for it. I need to get into a shop, any shop. But now I’ve decided that, I can’t see anything likely as I stumble along in the darkness. I tell myself to go up to a front door, any door, and knock or ring the bell. Surely someone will help me. But somehow I can’t find the courage to approach a stranger like that. I’ll hold out for a shop, I tell myself.
He’s coming closer to me. I’m frightened now. I’m lost in the darkness of a strange city, I’m freezing cold and I’m about to be attacked. I can hear his footsteps getting nearer. He’s gaining on me.
I won’t let this happen. I won’t let him hurt me.
I spin round to face him. I can’t make out his features in the darkness and I try to speak bravely but only hear a quavering voice come out of my mouth: ‘What do you want? Is it my phone? Do you want that?’
He stops when he sees that I have. His eyes glitter in the darkness but he says nothing.
‘Well? Why are you following me?’
Still the man says nothing but simply gestures to the road. A huge black car is pulling up at the side of the kerb right next to me. The back door opens and a voice says roughly, ‘Beth, get in at once.’
It’s Andrei Dubrovski.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m so incredibly relieved to see him and to be out of the biting cold, but it comes out as anger.
‘What are you doing here?’ I shout as soon as I’m in the car. Andrei leans across me and pulls the door shut. ‘Why are you following me? Did you have that man tailing me all the way? Don’t you have any idea how frightened I was?’
Andrei stares at me from burning blue eyes. ‘You should be grateful. You clearly had no idea where you were, and your clothes are completely unsuitable for this weather. Yes, that man is working for me.’
Promises After Dark (After Dark Book 3) Page 13
