Manolos in Manhattan (20 page)

“I know I work a lot of long hours,” he admitted, “and I know I spend most of those hours with Catherine, and it makes you crazy. But it shouldn’t,” he added, and brushed his lips against hers. “You’re the only girl for me, Hols.”

“And you’re the only boy for me,” she said.

And let’s just hope it stays that way
, she thought fervently as she kissed him back.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Good morning,” Gavin Williams sang out as he breezed past Natalie and into her apartment, a black portfolio under his arm. “I’ve brought the design board for your nursery.”

Natalie thrust her head outside the apartment door, her puzzled gaze taking in the empty hallway. “Where’s Suki?” she asked as she shut the door.

“She’s minding the store,” he said as he made his way into the living room and laid the portfolio down on the sofa. “You’re not the only customer I have, you know,” he joked. “But you’re my
most important
customer.”

“That’s good to know. Coffee?” she asked.

A few minutes later, as Natalie brought their cups into the living room and set them down, Gavin propped his design board on the mantel.

“Nice portrait,” he observed as he rested his board against the edge of the picture frame and glanced up at Roger Dashwood. “He looks a bit like you – is that your father?”

She nodded. “It used to hang in Grandfather’s office, but he redecorated recently, and I’ve inherited it.”

“Very striking. Now, Natalie,” he said briskly, turning his attention to the design board, “sit back, and let me show you my vision for your baby’s nursery.”

Later, after Gavin left, Natalie was about to close the door when she heard the lift ding at the end of the hall.

“Nat – hold up!”

“Holly?” Nat regarded Alastair’s daughter in surprise. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but...shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Lunch break. I’m hoping you’re free to join me.”

“Need you ask? Let me just get my bag and we’ll go.”

When they emerged onto the street a few minutes later, a chauffeured black Town Car glided up to the curb in front of the canopied entrance.

A man in khakis and a white polo shirt stopped to eye the limo, obviously curious to see who got out.

Holly nudged Natalie as a chauffeur emerged from the car. “Who do you suppose is in there?”

Nat gave a shrug. “Could be anyone, from the mayor to a congressman. Or your film star boyfriend, Ciaran Duncan,” she teased.

“He’s
not
my boyfriend.”

“The tabloids say otherwise. And you know they never lie.”

They paused as the driver got out and opened the rear door, and a silver-haired man emerged, a walking stick and trilby in hand.

“Hello, Natalie,” Morris Holland said as he saw her, and smiled. He glanced at Holly and nodded. “Where are you lovely ladies off to on this beautiful afternoon?”

“Welcome back, Mr Holland,” Natalie said. “This is Holly James. We’re off in search of lunch.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Holly. Well – I won’t keep you. Enjoy your lunch, ladies.”

“Thanks.” Natalie took the sunglasses from the top of her head and thrust them on. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“I’d love that, but I’m afraid I’ve just had a breakfast meeting on my plane. Business, you understand. I’m not a bit hungry,” he said regretfully.

“Another time, perhaps,” Nat called out, and waved goodbye.

“Another time,” he agreed, still smiling, and turned to go.

As Holly and Natalie seated themselves at a table outside a crowded French bistro twenty minutes later, Nat picked up her menu. “So how’s work?”

“It’s work. You know.” Holly shrugged. “I found out a bit more about the flapper.”

“Oh, yes, the girl in the portrait you found in the attic.” Nat laid her menu aside and leaned forward. “Do tell.”

“What can I get you today, ladies?” the apron-clad waiter inquired, stylus poised over his tablet and an expression of polite boredom on his face.

After they each ordered a salade niçoise and a glass of Sancerre, Holly returned her attention to Natalie’s question.

“Her name’s Daisy. She came to Manhattan from Nebraska and got a job as a nightclub singer.” She told Nat about the speakeasy, and Clyde Caruso, the club’s owner.

“Speakeasies and gangsters? How fascinating! So what happened to Daisy?” Natalie asked. “How’d her portrait end up in the attic?”

“I don’t know, yet. I found some of her letters up there, too. She was in love with a man named Brayden Averell, and they wanted to get married. But his family didn’t approve of their relationship. So they decided to elope.”

“And did they?” Nat asked as their drinks arrived.

Holly shook her head. “No. I did some research and learned she disappeared, and she was never seen again.”

“How sad. Maybe you can solve the mystery.”

“After all these years? I doubt it. I was furious when Coco sent me up there to inventory all that stuff,” Holly admitted, “but if she hadn’t, I never would have found Daisy.”

“Coco’s a bit of a dragon, isn’t she?” Nat sympathized as their salads arrived and she picked up her fork.

“She is, but she’s good at her job. She’s planning a costume party at the store next month, in her never-ending quest for publicity.”

“She’s very efficient, according to Rhys.” Nat frowned and took a mirrored compact out. “Is there lipstick on my teeth?”

Holly glanced up. “No. After Sasha and Valery, I can handle Coco. And I can keep an eye on her around Rhys,” she added.

Natalie paused. “Why? Don’t you trust Rhys?”

“Of course I do. It’s Coco I don’t trust.”

Natalie stared at her reflection in the tiny mirror and tried to compose her thoughts.

Coco Welch was young, pretty, ambitious – just the sort of woman who’d find Rhys attractive. She was a career girl with a bright future in front of her.

Whilst she, Nat reflected with misgivings as she cast a surreptitious glance down at the ever-more-noticeable swell of her belly, was a mother-to-be who continued to balloon. She felt fat and ungainly and unattractive.

And the fact that Rhys hadn’t wanted her to work in the office fuelled her self-doubt, leading her to wonder if perhaps something really
was
going on between him and Coco?

Why
didn’t he want her working in the office? Was it because he had something to hide – a steamy affair with the promotions manager, for instance?

“Nat?” Holly asked, noticing her friend’s silence. “Is something wrong? You’ve gone quiet.”

“No,” she replied, fixing a smile on her lips as she snapped the compact shut, “nothing’s wrong, Hols. I’m probably being silly. It’s just that—”

But the words froze in her throat.

There was a man across the street, studying her. Or at least it looked like he was studying her.

It wasn’t Ian, thank God, not this time – and if she weren’t as big around as a Guernsey cow, she might even be flattered by his attention…because he was très handsome.

But the fact was, this man, dressed neatly but casually in khakis and a white polo shirt, his eyes hidden by sunglasses, was the same man she’d noticed when they’d emerged from the Dunleigh.

Whoever he was, he was following her.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Don’t look,” Nat hissed, “but we’re being followed.”

Holly blinked. “What? Nat, that’s crazy.”

“There’s a man over there,” Natalie said firmly as she put her compact away and leaned forward, “across the street. He’s pretending to look in the store window. But he isn’t ‒ he’s been following us since we left the Dunleigh.”

“Are you sure? It’s probably a coincidence.”

“Of course I’m sure! He was hanging round, looking to see who got out of Mr Holland’s Town Car when we left my building. Now he’s here. In a place as big as Manhattan, believe me – that’s
no
coincidence.”

Cautiously, Holly turned her head slightly and glanced across the street. “What does he look like?”

“White polo, khakis, sunglasses – very fit. He has one of those diver’s watches on his wrist.”

But although Holly scanned the opposite side of the street, there was no one matching Natalie’s description, no one lingering in front of the store windows or loitering on the pavement.

“I don’t see anyone like that,” she said, and turned back to Nat. “He must’ve gone.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Natalie accused her. “You think I’m imagining it.”

“No, I don’t think that,” Holly assured her. Nat’s moods lately were mercurial and she was easily prone to tears – or anger. “I believe you, Nat, honestly. Whoever he was, he’s gone. I’m sure it was just a coincidence. After all,” she said, “why would anyone want to follow you?”

“Exactly,” Nat snapped, “because why should a fit, attractive man possibly be interested in
me
? I’m just a fat, ungainly, pregnant waste of space...a
lot
of space...”

And she began, noisily, to cry.

Holly pushed her chair back and crouched next to Natalie, slipping her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “You’re not any of those things, Natalie,” she reassured her. “You’re beautiful and kind, and you’re my best friend. Any man would be lucky to have you – Rhys, most of all. Now, please, stop being so ridiculous.”

With something between a sob and a laugh, Natalie sniffled and swiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

“It’s okay, you’re pregnant. You’re allowed.”

“I must look a mess. I need the loo before we leave. I always need the loo these days,” she sighed.

“Come on,” Holly said, and stood up. “Let’s go to the ladies’ and get you sorted. And then it’s back to work for me.”

When Holly returned to Dashwood and James and headed upstairs to her desk, it was nearly three o’clock. She was fifteen minutes late. Now, if she could only avoid running into Coco...

As she arrived at her desk and dropped her purse into the bottom drawer, Holly saw a pink message slip on her blotter.

“’Please see Coco when you return,’” she read out loud. “’She needs your assistance. Alastair.’”

She slammed the drawer shut and wondered what fresh hell her boss had planned for her this time.

With a longing look at her computer – she’d hoped to do a bit of web surfing this afternoon – she made her way through the warren of cubicles and filing cabinets and went in search of Coco.

Five minutes later she came to an abrupt stop. Hugh and the promotions manager stood in front of the copier, their heads together. Hugh murmured something, and Coco, an intent look on her face, nodded. Then she put her scarlet-nailed hand on his arm and laughed.

So it was true
, Holly realized with a pang. Hugh really
was
seeing Coco. No wonder she’d scribbled her number on that bit of paper he’d thrust in his jacket pocket.
Poor guy, he must be really desperate if he was reduced to romancing a Manolo-wearing man-eater like Coco Welch...

“Hello,” Holly said as she joined them, and pasted on a big, fake smile. “Dad said you needed me, Coco?”

The moment they saw her, Hugh and Coco broke apart with matching guilty expressions.

“Sorry,” Holly added pointedly, “did I interrupt something?”

“Of course not,” Coco retorted. She turned back to Hugh. “Thank you for the information, Mr Darcy. I’ll let you know what I decide.”

I just
bet
you will
, Holly thought. For some reason, the thought of Hugh and Coco together irritated her immensely. Why? It’s not as if she
cared
, or anything.
It’s only because
, she reassured herself,
Mr Darcy could do
so
much better than Coco.

“Hello, Miss James,” Hugh said, and glanced at his watch. “Just returning from lunch? Rather late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, because I had a late lunch. And it’s ‘Holly,’” she added irritably. “But since you insist, you can call me ‘Miss James.’”

His eyes darkened. He inclined his head and murmured, “Duly noted, Miss James,” and left.

“Now then,” Coco pronounced as she strode back to her desk with Holly in her wake, “I want you to file a few things before you go. I’m leaving in a few minutes. I have a date.”

Holly said nothing, but glowered at Coco’s back.
So, the she-beast was going out on a date with Hugh...tonight. He certainly didn’t waste any time
.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Coco was saying. “Just a few file folders that need to be sorted.”

Holly stared at the teetering stack of folders waiting on the edge of Coco’s desk in mute horror. It would take
hours
to file all that stuff. But, “No problem,” she managed.

“Good.” Coco reached her purse down from atop the filing cabinet. “You’re off next weekend, aren’t you?”

Holly nodded. As Hugh came around the corner, she couldn’t resist adding, “Yes. Ciaran’s asked me along to his new film première.”

“Oh. How nice.” Insincerity (and jealousy) oozed from her very pores.

“Yes, we’ve gotten quite close, Ciaran and I,” Holly went on, aware as she was of Hugh, who went to stand before the copier and lifted the lid. “He took me to see
Wicked
just the other night.”

“How appropriate,” Hugh muttered, and lowered the copier lid with just a bit more force than necessary.

“Did you say something, Mr Darcy?” Holly inquired.

“Nothing,” he replied shortly, “only that I despise this bloody copier.”

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Coco said, and shouldered her bag (something understated and expensive, naturally). “Ciao.”

“Ciao,” Holly echoed.

She waited until Coco click-clacked away and disappeared into the lift and turned to Hugh. “Shouldn’t you be going soon, too?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her and pressed ‘copy.’ “I have far too much to do to even think of leaving yet. Why?”

“No reason.”
So he wasn’t going out with the beast...not tonight, anyway.
Holly glanced at her wristwatch. It was 3:37. If she started right now, she might finish the filing by – she eyed the stack and sighed – seven o’clock tonight. Eight, tops.

“It looks like Coco left you with quite a bit of filing.” Hugh appeared at her desk a moment later, a folder in his hand.