Passing through reception, Meg spied Salvatore sitting in one of the leather chairs, immaculate as ever. He was scouring The Villager with his glasses in his hand hovering over the print, using them like a magnifying glass.
‘Good morning!’ she said cheerily, still trying to win him over, as she buttoned up her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck.
‘Don’t know what’s good about it!’ He tapped the open page with the arm of his spectacles. ‘Are they going to pull down every goddam historical building and replace them all with flashy glass condos? The mayor’s a schmuck. They’re destroying the city, piece by piece. What’s good about that?’ Salvatore shook his head.
Meg paused as she got to the front door, unsure whether he wanted a response or was just venting his spleen. ‘I don’t know what’s good about it, you are right. But I hope something happens today to make you smile.’ She flashed a grin at the top of Salvatore’s head, but he continued reading and mumbling as though he were alone.
‘Well, I’ll be off then.’ She nodded and reached for the brass handle. It was time to get on with her day.
‘Don’t let the heat out!’ He waved his glasses in her direction and shouted at her disappearing form.
Meg laughed. How was she supposed to step outside into the frosty winter morning without opening the front door? Standing on the top step, she took a deep breath and ventured out on to the streets of Greenwich Village.
She liked this time of day in any city. It was a little too early for other tourists to have hit the streets and was the preserve of natives making their way to work and runners pounding the pavements in mismatched T-shirts and joggers. Here, the sun was yet to rise over the skyscrapers and the early haze of morning threw a bluey-grey veil over the cityscape. She let her eyes wander, watching as New York stretched and yawned, coming alive, full of all the wonderful possibilities that the day might hold.
Passing the Greenwich Avenue Deli, she resisted the temptation to go in and grab a coffee and one of the plump banana and nut muffins that sat so enticingly in the window, their crunchy crusts of dark brown sugar all but impossible to ignore. She didn’t want to arrive with breakfast in her hand, especially not a baked breakfast, feeling that would be disloyal to the Plum brand. She would simply have to wait. She hoped that they had at least managed to get the coffee machine working and had run off a batch of chocolate brioche. Meg inhaled their imaginary scent, which was enough to make her mouth water. She glanced at the stools and counter inside the window and shook her head, remembering the rude man in the denim shirt the night before. Mary Poppins? What a dickhead.
She fell into step with the other commuters and felt a rush of happiness as she considered her situation. Meg from London, Megan who had been in and out of care, quiet Megan who would never amount to much, here she was, strolling around New York, off to work as though it were second nature. If she could, what would she say to her seven-year-old self, who felt like the world was so complicated, when it took all of her strength just to figure out her place in it? She would say, ‘Hang on in there, Meggy. You might have a few bumps ahead of you, but I promise, it all gets a lot, lot easier.’ And she’d probably buy her a pair of pink fluffy earmuffs like Izzy Fox’s because she’d know how much she coveted them. She smiled at the idea.
Meg walked the few blocks quickly to try and prevent the chill of the frosty morning from creeping into her bones. She took a circuitous route, wanting to see some of this incredible city. Having passed through Washington Square and skirted the New York University building, she now stood watching Juno, the young manager of Plum’s New York branch, from across the street as she waited for a gap in the traffic.
Juno was nervous. She paced the pavement in front of the shop, smoothing her dark hair back into its immaculate ballerina bun and craning her neck left and right before returning inside and peeking regularly from the open door. Meg recognised her instantly from their many conversations on Skype. She sensed her anxiety and felt for her. She knew that until Juno had worked for the company for a while, she would be jumpy, uneasy about how she might be viewed when things were running less than smoothly. But everyone in London had confidence in Juno’s abilities. She had been awarded the ribbon for excellence on her course in pastry arts, cake- and bread-making at the New York Institute of Culinary Arts, and she had impressed at her interview. Her artisan loaf had wowed Guy, which was no mean feat, and her passion for the project was infectious, just what they needed for a new team in a competitive environment. Milly was right, it was important not to let her enthusiasm flag before Plum’s had even opened its doors for business, especially if there was a whiff of dissent in the ranks.
Juno came out on to Bleecker Street again just as the cloud seemed to lift and rays of sunshine pierced the sky. Shielding her eyes, she glanced up and down the busy street, wiping her palms down the side of her long black skirt, over which she wore her starched black atelier’s apron that buttoned on to her white shirt. The Plum Patisserie double ‘P’ logo stood out in gold embroidery. Meg had expected her to be in jeans, as they weren’t yet open. She waved from the other side of Bleecker Street, catching Juno’s eye immediately before a large truck with a shiny chrome fender blocked her from view. A gap finally appeared in the traffic and Meg took her chance and darted across the road.
‘Morning, Juno!’ She stepped forward, smiling. ‘It’s really great to meet you properly in person.’
‘Hey, Meg. You too. I’m really sorry about this.’ Juno looked close to tears as she gestured at the shopfront behind her. The gold ‘Plum Patisserie’ lettering shone handsomely against the bottle-green frontage.
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For the whole mess and that you had to come out so near to Christmas to check up on things. I know how busy you must be. I told Milly things were getting sorted and they are, it’s just that we have hit a couple of roadblocks…’ She twisted her fingers inside her cupped palms and blinked rapidly.
Meg took a deep breath. ‘Listen to me, Juno, we are a team, a family and we will do whatever it takes to get things sorted, okay?’ She placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder and felt the tension leave her muscles.
‘Okay.’ Juno nodded, giving her first smile of the day, even if it was a little forced.
‘That’s better. And I’m here to support you, not check up on you. What kind of team would we be if we left you to sort out all the crap alone?’ Meg remembered Pru’s hand on her back when she had needed it most; the extraordinarily feeling that she wasn’t alone was one that she would never forget.
Juno nodded again. ‘Okay.’ She exhaled, relieved and determined.
‘Now, why don’t we grab a cup of coffee and we can go through where we are at. The shopfront looks marvellous, by the way. They’ve done a great job.’
‘They have.’ Juno beamed. This time her smile was genuine.
Meg stepped over the brass tread with its plastic wrap still in place and looked around at the spacious shop. The bakery occupied the back wall, with the café and counter at the front. The front door was wedged open by an improvised rough wooden block, allowing as much natural light as possible to fill the space.
The solid wood floor was a beautiful burnished oak, the honey tones of which made the whole room seem bright; it too was being kept under wraps beneath a layer of plastic that was taped down at the edges and corners. The counter stretched across the right-hand wall, along with glass display cabinets and blackboards. The walls had been beautifully panelled in dark wood and the ornamental brass rails and window seats were awaiting the standard button-backed cushions. Wooden bistro chairs were stacked in corners; on the tables, which had been pushed to the side, sat shallow packing cases full of crockery, glassware, cake stands and glass cloches, all nestling in white polystyrene squiggles. Everything from head height down looked to be near completion. The problem became evident when Meg looked up.
Long electrical flexes hung in loops from jagged fist-sized holes that ha
d been roughly cut in the new ceiling. There were no light fittings; instead, bright bulbs sat inside round wire cages that had been pegged up on wooden splints, providing temporary lighting. They were plugged into cables that dragged along the floor and were criss-crossed into place with yellow-and-black tape printed with the words ‘Trip Hazard’. No kidding, Meg thought as she sidestepped one particular snaking cable that threatened to ensnare her ankle.
Dust fell at regular intervals, sending a fine mist of debris into the room whenever something was disturbed. It clung to Meg’s clothes and filled her nose and mouth with a grey, gritty soot that turned to paste on her tongue.
‘Oh dear.’ Meg shielded her eyes as she peered up at the ceiling.
Juno sighed. ‘Yes, oh dear. We have the mop out every hour trying to keep on top of the dust, but it’s not easy with all the cables and stuff in the way.’
‘I bet.’ Meg sympathised, liking Juno’s attempts at keeping order.
‘We’ve tried every way we can think of to get around it, but the problem is Mr Redlitch, who lives in the apartment above. He won’t answer his door or respond to calls or letters. Mrs Pakeffelar two doors down is his friend from the bridge club and thinks he may have gone to stay with his daughter, Nancy, in Boca Raton. Apparently he goes for long periods, otherwise he can’t cope with the journey and why wouldn’t you go for a long time, weather’s gotta be better than here, right?’ Juno held her upturned palms in the air.
‘Right.’ Meg nodded although she wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to. Juno spoke very quickly and her hand gestures were a little distracting. ‘But what’s our ceiling got to do with Mr…?’ Meg had lost the thread and was busy wondering where Boca Raton was.
‘Redlitch,’ Juno prompted.
‘Yes, Mr Redlitch.’
Juno sighed again. It clearly wasn’t the first time she had recounted the story. ‘He owns the apartment above and we need access to finish the electrical work. The architect thought it could all be done from this side…’ She pointed upwards. ‘But apparently it was a false ceiling with a botched electrical job done decades ago, so the wiring’s old and messy. We need to pull up Mr Redlitch’s floor and come from the top down to sort it all out. That’s if we can get his permission, which we still haven’t—’
‘Because he’s gone to stay with Nancy,’ Meg concluded.
‘Right.’ Juno nodded.
The two stared silently at the ceiling as if, if they stared long enough, a solution might present itself.
‘I’m probably stating the obvious, but does anyone have a number for Nancy?’ Meg was in full solution mode.
Juno shook her head. ‘No. We thought of that, of course. I even tried buttering up the building superintendent to let me in. I figured we could get in, pull up the floor and have everything back in place before Mr Redlitch came home – he’d never suspect a thing!’
Meg pulled a face at Juno’s cunning, concerned and impressed in equal parts.
‘But he cited some clause at me about violating people’s property and breaking and entering, yadda yadda…’
‘So we can’t get the lighting done until Mr Redlitch appears or we get hold of Nancy’s number?’ Meg placed her hands on her hips.
‘That’s about the sum of it.’
‘And we have no lighting until that time?’
‘It’s not just that: no ceiling lighting and no lit displays, but also no electrical safety certificate. And without that, no general liability insurance, meaning we can’t let the public set foot over the door.’ Juno inhaled strongly.
‘Shit,’ Meg muttered under her breath.
‘Yes, shit. A couple of the kitchen team are getting jumpy, worried that we aren’t going to open and that their jobs are in jeopardy. No one wants to be out of work three weeks before Christmas. I keep telling them everything is fine, but I guess they’re worried that if we can’t get up and running, it might never get off the ground.’
‘Are you worried too, Juno?’ Meg looked her in the eye.
The girl tilted her oval face towards her narrow shoulder. ‘A little, I guess.’
‘Well don’t be. I promise you we are going to open, no matter how long it takes. I’ll have a word with everyone else individually.’ Meg started to mentally rehearse the reassurances. This was far more than a hand-holding project. ‘And where is the architect? I can’t believe we are in this mess at this point so close to opening.’ The firm of architects responsible for the design and fit of the building was also overseeing the project and sending regular reports back to Milly and Pru in the UK.
‘I asked him to meet us here.’ Juno looked at her watch. ‘I know he’s crazy busy though. Seems at this time of the year everyone wants things finished.’
Meg lifted down a couple of the chairs from the stack by the wall and ran her fingertips over the dusty seat before sitting down. ‘I don’t care about everyone else’s projects. I only care about ours.’
She once again looked up at the ceiling and the electrical vines hanging down. They made the room look part cable factory, part jungle. Meg breathed deeply, trying to calm her pulse. Her palms were clammy despite the cold. She hoped she would know what to do, hoped she’d be able to find the answers and get the place up and running. It was a familiar feeling of not wanting to let Milly and Pru down and wondering if she was good enough to get the job done. Pru’s words drifted into her head: ‘You can do anything you put your mind to, Meg. You are smart and if you don’t know what to do straight off, you’ll figure it out.’ Meg lifted her chin and opened her case. It was important to convey confidence and leadership to Juno and the team. Yes. I will figure this out.
The two spent the next couple of hours running through the training programme for the serving staff, who were all on standby, waiting for a start date.
Juno fidgeted with strands of hair that had worked loose from her bun. ‘The problem we have is that even though the staff are super keen, some might begin looking for other jobs and there are more available at this time of year than any other, even if they’re only temporary. My worry is they might take temp work rather than hang around waiting for us and then we will have lost them for the opening and will have to start the hiring process all over again.’ She put her head in her hand, depressed at the prospect.
Meg knew how time-consuming and tedious that whole process could be. ‘Well, we shall have to let them start right away. Let’s get them involved in the setting-up of the premises and begin table training and, more crucially, let’s start paying them – it’s only a few weeks early. It might cost us in wages, but it will save us money in the long-term. At least they’ll be fully on board, reassured and invested in the project if they’ve been here since the very beginning and watched it open.’
Juno bobbed her head, relieved. ‘That’s great, Meg.’
‘You see?’ Meg smiled. ‘There is nothing we can’t sort with a bit of team work!’
‘Oh good –finally!’ Juno directed her gaze over Meg’s shoulder. ‘Here’s Mr Architect!’
Meg glanced at her watch. It was nearly 11 a.m. She watched Juno’s cheeks flush ever so slightly at the sight of the architect. Meg turned and came face to face with the man in whom she would have to trust as he guided her through the process of sorting the electrics and getting the whole venture up and running, in time and on budget. She looked on as he dumped his brown leather satchel and yellow hardhat on the floor.
The man took a step forward and held out his hand. ‘Edward Kelly – Edd.’ He beamed, eyes shining, a beacon of confidence.
Meg placed her palm against his and looked him up and down. You have got to be kidding me. Her face fell and her shoulders sagged. ‘Poppins, Mary Poppins.’
‘Ah! Yes, that…’ He looked at the floor and sucked his breath in through his clenched teeth.
‘Yes, that. And for your information, I had literally just landed.’ She enjoyed watching him squirm.
‘Well, that explains why you were so tired.’
He tried to break the ice, putting his hands on his hips and nodding slightly.
‘That’s right. Tired, not dallying,’ Meg whispered. She noted his sturdy tan Timberland work boots, jeans, white T-shirt and favoured denim shirt, over which he wore a navy pea coat, buttoned up against the cold weather.
Edd dropped her hand and removed his coat, which he placed over the back of Meg’s chair. The sleeves of his shirt were again rolled above his dark, freckled forearms, despite the season. He indicated the door over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Can we rewind and start over?’
‘What, all the way back to last night?’ she asked, conscious that Juno was all ears.
‘Well, no, I was thinking just the last few minutes, give myself a chance to do over.’
‘“Do over”?’ Meg looked confused.
‘A “do-over” is where you get to start again from the beginning, usually because you did it badly the first time,’ Juno explained.
‘Oh.’ Meg looked up. ‘A do-over…’
‘What do you call it?’ Edd asked.
‘We just say, get it right the first time, you muppet.’ She allowed the smallest smile to form on her lips.
‘“Muppet” as in…?’ Edd rolled his hand, hoping for clarification.
‘As in Miss Piggy, Kermit, Gonzo and gang.’
The two stared at each other and then the floor. Juno coughed. ‘Shall I go get us all some coffee?’ she offered with a wistful air. Clearly the newly arrived Brit had made far more progress with Mr Architect in the last twenty-four hours than she had in over a month.
‘Please.’ They both nodded at her in unison.
‘What about something to eat?’ Juno ventured.
Meg felt a ripple of hunger in her stomach. ‘Oh, yes please, a good firm golden croissant that hasn’t been anywhere near shrink-wrap. Yes!’ She clicked her fingers imagining the breakfast she craved. ‘Organic honey to dip it in would be perfect. Or some warm brioche, the ones that pull apart with ease, chocolate preferably, but only if they’re warm. Or a muffin, any flavour, but definitely one of the big greasy ones with something drizzled on top. You know the ones?’ She turned to Edd. ‘They are mass-produced with too much corn oil, keeps them softer and fresher for longer, but it leaves that small slick of grease on your lips – my guilty pleasure! They need to be washed down with strong black coffee to balance the sweetness.’ She looked back to Juno. ‘In fact, get me all three, would you? I’m absolutely starving!’ She rubbed her stomach, having no difficulty in voicing exactly what she wanted to eat. She smiled, vindicated.
Christmas for One: No Greater Love Page 5
