Manhattan Magic

by Oliver, Marina

'Just one, then,' Rezia agreed, and soon received a huge plate covered with a thick pancake. Light and fluffy as it was, she could manage less than a quarter, but they didn't seem offended.

  Mama patted her own bulging stomach. 'No matter. Soon you have curves the boys admire, hey?'

  All the way home she wondered whether she would meet the disturbing Klaus again. Back in the apartment she firmly thrust speculation about him away and set to work. She had a map of New York with the main museums and art galleries where she would be working ringed in red, and to her delight found that most of them were on Fifth Avenue, or just a couple of miles away in Greenwich Village. She spread out her notes and began to plan. Most of the portraits she was to photograph had been selected by the authors of the various articles in the book, but she had discretion to choose additional ones if they seemed appropriate. There were so many scattered in the hundreds of galleries, and new exhibitions all the time. She sighed with pleasurable anticipation. This was more like a feast than a job.

  She was due at the A.P.P. office, near Carnegie Hall, by mid-afternoon. It was just south of the Park, and she would walk there. But first she would contact Sarah Mancini, a friend from college days who worked at The Frick Collection, and perhaps they could meet for lunch.

  *

  'Hi, Rezia, great to hear from you!' Sarah said when she finally got through to Sarah's office. 'Lunch? Sure. We can get something from a deli and eat it in the Park. Do you know how to find us? Twelve then, at the entrance here. See you.'

  It was only a few blocks away. Rezia slung a large bag over her shoulder, with her notes and a small camera she used for her own snapshots, and strolled along Fifth Avenue, absorbing the atmosphere. It positively breathed affluence, with expensive stores and boutiques, apartment blocks which were, she was certain, as luxurious as her own behind their discreet facades. There were hundreds of taxis, and more huge stretch limousines within half a mile than she had ever seen in her entire life. Twice she thought she recognised movie stars stepping out of chauffeur driven cars and entering expensive boutiques. The people were a very mixed bunch, many dressed in the latest fashions, but also plenty of others, of all colours and races, who wore cheap clothes and looked unhealthily pale. New York, she decided, was probably the most varied city in the world. On the far side of the road the trees of Central Park, heavy with summer foliage, shady and inviting, provided relief from the hot and dusty urban landscape

  The Frick Collection was on a corner of East 70, housed in an early nineteenth century mansion which had belonged to an industrialist. Rezia looked at it with interest. She would be working here for some time, particularly on Dutch paintings, and the Van Dykes and Gainsboroughs.

  Sarah was waiting for her, and steered her swiftly to a delicatessen where she bought bowls of salad. Then they crossed to the Park and only a short distance into the trees found a seat in the shade of a huge tree. Sarah sank down with a sigh.

  'Whew, it's so hot!' Rezia exclaimed. 'This is cool, though. And you can hardly hear the traffic. How come there's such a huge bit of open country in the middle of the city?'

  'It looks like open country, but it was landscaped deliberately. Don't come here after dark, or even early in the morning. It can be dangerous unless there are plenty of people about.'

  'I thought one of your Mayors had cleaned up New York?'

  'He has, lots of extra cops, zero tolerance, and so on, but you still need to be sensible. How long are you staying?'

  'As long as it takes, within reason. Probably a couple of months.'

  'Great, then when I get back we can see a lot of each other.'

  'Get back?' Rezia asked, dismayed. She'd looked forward to having Sarah's company.

  'I'm off for a few days, just visiting an aunt in the Catskills, but it will be wonderful to get into the hills for a while.'

  *

  All too soon they had to part, and Rezia walked through the Park. She came towards the crowded district where the tall buildings rarely allowed glimpses of the sun to reach street level. It wasn't difficult to find the A.P.P. office and meet her contact, Frank Wilson, who had made appointments for her with various museum curators and gallery owners.

  'A lot of the work will have to be done during opening hours, I'm afraid,' he said when he gave her the schedule he'd fixed up. 'I've organised early starts or closing day sessions where I could. I hope that's OK?'

  'Of course, and this looks pretty comprehensive.'

  'Here's a list of phone numbers, names of the people you'll need to see, or who'll be able to help. I've tried to combine the work so that you spend whole days in one place, but that means hopping about from one topic to another. Will that throw you?'

  Rezia reassured him. 'I'd rather do that than have to keep going back over the same galleries. Some of these museums are huge, it will take me half an hour to get from one end to the other without stopping for photography.'

  'Right then, have an early night. We're meeting at the Met at six in the morning, to show you round before the crowds arrive.'

  Rezia had known Americans began the day early, but she blinked at this. Thank goodness she was living almost opposite to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  *

  For several days Rezia was totally absorbed in her job, finding her way round New York, meeting curators and beginning her work at the Frick Collection and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Every day she blessed Gina that she didn't have to struggle with the crowds she saw emerging from the subways. Mrs O'Brien, a thin woman of forty with a broad Irish accent, told her where all the best neighbourhood grocery stores were, and Rezia cooked for herself. Apart from not wanting to run into Klaus, she couldn't afford to eat out much.

  By the weekend she was feeling as though she'd imagined their first encounter. She'd seen no more of him, and half-believed he'd been a dream. Then on Saturday morning he knocked on her door.

  'I knocked,' he greeted her, and she laughed at the virtuous expression on his face. 'I came to ask you to come to a party.'

  'A party?'

  'Yes. Mrs O'Brien, she cleans for me too, says you do nothing but work. I'm visiting my sister at the family summer house in Long Island, and you are invited.'

  She knew she ought not to go, but she had been feeling lonely. She had few contacts with anyone but Frank Wilson, her boss at the A.P.P. New York office, and the curators of museums, and they had their work to do and were happy to leave her to get on with her own job. Sarah was away and she was tired of evenings on her own.

  'Your sister?' she asked cautiously.

  'And her husband and three children. You'll be well chaperoned. It's right on the shore and we can go sailing tomorrow. How about it?'

  It was probably mad of her. If she saw too much of him she wouldn't be able to resist his attraction. But it would be wonderful to get out of the oven New York had become. 'Thanks. I'd like that.'

  'Be ready in ten minutes then. Don't bother with smart clothes, just one party dress. We'll spend most of the time on the beach.'

  *

  She frowned at his back as he departed. She'd heard that before. If she took him at his word she'd be bound to discover his sister in a smart designer frock while all she had were scruffy shorts and sandals. She'd try to be prepared, take a good dress as well as casual clothes for the beach. The pale apple green with the midnight blue splashes, another of her mother's creations, simple but figure hugging, would be ideal. And she'd take her tiny camera, she promised herself. It was toy sized, but an excellent camera for taking snapshots, and she took every opportunity of recording the places she visited. She slipped it in her bag before she hastily packed the clothes she thought she might need for the weekend.

  She was just ready, wearing white cotton jeans and a pale yellow patterned shirt, when Klaus reappeared. He wore grey, a blueish grey tee shirt which made his blue eyes seem more intense than she remembered. He was even more handsome than she recalled, with his firm straight nose, square, determined chin, and the most
kissable lips she'd ever seen.

  She suppressed these thoughts as they rode the elevator, and Klaus led the way to where a long, low convertible white Ferrari waited in the forecourt. Soon they were speeding along the expressway. Klaus mentioned casually that he had been away for a few days, but mainly he pointed out landmarks and told her of all the places she ought to visit in this part of New York.

  'My house is about seventy miles away, on the north shore. That's roughly half way along. One day we can explore further, see the Hamptons and Sag harbour.'

  'It's very crowded,' Rezia commented. She'd expected Long Island to be more rural.

  'Too many people have discovered it, and it's easy to commute to Manhattan, so Queens and Brooklyn have spread in the past few decades. It's too expensive for most people to live downtown.'

  The country grew more open, with many vineyards and more scattered settlements. Klaus left the expressway and travelled along smaller and smaller roads until finally he turned into a narrow dirt track which ended at his house set on a low cliff.

  *

  It was larger than Rezia had expected, since he'd described it as a holiday home. It sprawled over the uneven ground, and though meant to be single storey, there were the odd few steps between the different levels. At the side overlooking Long Island Sound the rooms were all on one level, and tall windows, all open to the wide terrace, stretched along the house. From a railing at the edge of the terrace the cliff dropped sheer for twenty feet into the sea, and the waves pounding onto the jumble of rocks below provided a constant, gentle background murmur. To both right and left were wide, white sandy beaches, and several small boats were pulled up onto the sand, or moored to buoys just offshore. In the far distance the mainland coast could just be seen through the haze.

  Klaus's sister Johanna was lying in a hammock and greeted Rezia lazily.

  'Come and join me,' she suggested. 'Or do you want to swim before we eat?'

  'Yes, we do,' Klaus replied for her. 'I'll show you your room, Rezia.'

  He led her through one of the sets of windows into a large, comfortable looking family room. The floor was highly polished, with sheepskin rugs, huge settees, and brightly patterned cushions. A large fireplace was laid with what looked like driftwood. They went along a corridor with doors opening both sides, and Klaus opened one near the end.

  'Here it is, and the bathroom's through there.'

  The room was spacious, beautifully cool, cream-painted. On the bed was a patchwork quilt in pale greens and browns, with the occasional dark brown contrasting section. Rezia thought how much her mother would appreciate the pattern. White filmy curtains billowed at the open windows, and the same material hung from a ring in the ceiling to frame the head of the bed.

  'How lovely!' Rezia exclaimed.

  'It owes some of its inspiration to Danish customs,' Klaus said. 'My grandfather emigrated from Denmark, but he insisted his family remained proud of their heritage. See you on the beach.'

  Rezia was soon changed into a scarlet bikini, revelling in the coolness of the sea, and laughingly joining in a splashing contest with Klaus, his three young nephews, and their father, Felix.

  *

  Chapter 3

  After lunch of lobster salad followed by raspberries and cream she lazed and slept most of the afternoon. Klaus and Johanna's menfolk walked to the next house, several hundred yards away, to visit a friend. Johanna, firmly telling Rezia she didn't need to go with them if she preferred to sunbathe, refused to move from her hammock, waved them off and promptly went to sleep.

  At six Rezia showered and changed into her party dress. Designed by her mother, in dull gold taffeta, it was close fitting but with a skirt that flowed smoothly over her hips to widen into fullness. The bodice was cut low, but fringed with a creamy lace ruffle that gave it an air of demureness at variance with the seductive cut.

  They drove to a house some miles away, Klaus explaining that their hosts, Betty and Bob Delaney, had huge parties whenever they were there, and invited everyone from miles around.

  A friendly couple, they made Rezia welcome, and ushered them out to another wide terrace where people were dancing. It was a dream, to be here in Klaus's arms, swaying to old-fashioned smoochy music as he held her close.

  Later she was tidying her hair in Betty's bedroom when, through the half-open door to the hall, she heard Klaus's name.

  'Who's Klaus's latest?' a faintly bored female voice asked.

  'Lord knows. Not his usual type, is she.'

  'Has he a usual type? She's unlike Gina, I admit.'

  'Green eyes! You've never forgiven him for dropping you.'

  There was a tinkling laugh. 'The other way about, pet. That guy tries to imply he's irresistible, but without his money I doubt many of his women would put up with his temper! Do you know – '

  The voice receded, and Rezia shook herself. How could she have eavesdropped? She wasn't like that. Yet she'd been incapable of movement. So Gina had once been one of Klaus's women. The thought gave her a sudden pang. Then she took herself to task. She wasn't one of his women, he'd taken pity on her and invited her to a party, that was all. Yet for a crazy moment she admitted she wanted to be. She was becoming far too attracted to the man, and it wouldn't do. They inhabited different worlds.

  *

  She left the room slowly, and almost unconsciously took her camera out of her bag. She had some snaps from the swim, but Klaus looked so handsome in evening dress she wanted more. It would have to be her last chance. To retain her sanity she must in future avoid him.

  Klaus was standing in front of the buffet table. It was laden with plates, glasses and cutlery, salads and platters of meat. He was talking to a remarkably pretty girl who was gazing adoringly into his eyes. Rezia discreetly took a couple of pictures, and was about to take a third when, from across the room, there was a commotion.

  It happened so quickly that Rezia, concentrating on the camera, took several more shots before she noticed the disturbance. A burly, red-faced man almost ran across, shouting something, and took a wild swing at Klaus. Unprepared, Klaus staggered backwards and fell, arms flailing, into the buffet.

  As two men grabbed the drunk, Betty ran across to the girl, who had dissolved into tears. Others pulled Klaus upright, his suit, face and hair liberally smeared with scraps of meat, salads, and sauces.

  Rezia heard Felix speak, just behind her. 'Damned fool. Just married, and too jealous for comfort. Let me get you another drink.'

  Had he cause to be jealous? The girl had seemed eager to encourage Klaus's attentions, so was it as innocent as he pretended?

  Felix led her across to a small table and some time later Klaus, who had tried to clean up as best he could, but with little success, came across too, followed by Bob.

  'Klaus, I'm so sorry. That's the last time that fool comes here.'

  Klaus shrugged. 'Not your fault, but if love makes a guy lose his cool like that, I hope I never experience it.'

  'Come next week? There won't be many more weekends for good sailing weather.'

  'Sorry, Bob, it's Miami and Arlene next weekend.'

  *

  They left soon afterwards, Klaus saying he didn't dare dance again for fear of transferring lettuce and tomato onto Rezia's dress.

  Or risk offending other men, she thought. He seemed to be well-known as a flirt, from the comments she'd overheard.

  'What was all that about?' Rezia asked as they drove away.

  'A new and jealous husband,' Klaus said, his tone disparaging. 'He's well over forty, never been married before, and acquires a pretty young wife. He's terrified she'll get bored and leave him. He'd have been better off not marrying, he left it too late. He can't adapt.'

  Klaus must be in his mid-thirties, Rezia thought. Did his comment apply to himself? Did he rule out marriage? Then she caught herself up guiltily. She was risking falling into the same trap as many other women did, when a good-looking, attractive man paid them flattering attention. He was attractive
, she admitted. But she must beware of his reputation, and not allow herself to become too involved. If she relaxed her guard it would be very easy to fall in love with him, and then she'd be hurt.

  On Sunday they sailed in the morning, and all too soon the weekend was over. They drove back to Manhattan as its spectacular skyline was silhouetted against one of the most glorious sunsets Rezia had ever seen. It shaded from the palest pink to rose, lilac and deep violet. She spent the rest of the drive taking photos, to Klaus's amusement.

  *

  For the next week Rezia worked hard. She was by now familiar with those galleries where the portraits she needed were located, in both the Met and the Frick. Because she worked early most mornings, and occasionally in the evenings, Frank insisted she took some time off during the afternoons. She was tempted to sleep, but being in New York was an opportunity not to be missed. She walked in Central Park, looked at the outcrops of the Manhattan schist, the very hard rock of the island which supported the huge skyscrapers, took a boat out on the lake, and began to know her way along some of the winding paths.

  One afternoon, feeling guilty at enjoying herself so much, and telling herself this was background to her work, she went to the International Center of Photography. It proved so fascinating she was almost late for her next appointment, and decided she had to entrust herself to one of the yellow cabs. Her first experience of these, from the airport when she arrived, had not endeared her to them. Most drivers, she heard, spoke no English, and many had little idea of the geography of the city. She ought to make herself familiar with the subway system, but most of the time she could walk to where she was working, and enjoy the varied architecture and the bustling street life.

  And every spare moment she spent with Klaus. It was useless telling herself she ought to avoid him. He had other ideas. Every evening she came home to find small gifts, flowers or phials of perfume, bath essences or boxes of chocolates, gift wrapped and placed prominently on her dining table or the middle of her bed. They were always accompanied by a note, saying he'd booked a table at a restaurant and would be calling for her soon.