Manolos in Manhattan (21 page)

“She lives to torture me,” Holly sighed.

“If you need a hand, I can help. I’ll be here quite late, I’m afraid. There’s no sense in both of us spending the evening in retail misery.”

“Why are you working so late?’ she asked, curious.

“More of those dull legal matters, unfortunately.”

“Well,” Holly said, and shrugged as she grabbed the top folder, “I wouldn’t say no to a bit of help. Not even yours.”

He picked up the second folder and glanced at her with an unreadable expression. “Ah. There it is again.”

“There what is? What do you mean?” Holly yanked open the “E‒G” file drawer with rather more force than necessary and riffled through the folders.

“I’ve noticed a certain...constraint, between us. Have I done something to offend you?”

Holly glanced over at him as she shut the drawer. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

She couldn’t possibly tell him she’d found Coco’s phone number in his jacket pocket, because (1) he’d think she was a nosy snoop, and (2) she didn’t want him to think she cared in the slightest...because she didn’t.

Not one bit.

“How’s your research going? Have you learned anything more about the girl in the painting?” Hugh asked as he picked up another file from the stack.

“Daisy? I’ve learned quite a bit, actually. She sang right here in the brownstone, when it was a speakeasy.”

“Interesting,” he remarked. “What happened to her?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” She stood alongside him and dropped a couple of files into the “L” folder. “Daisy disappeared the night she was supposed to elope with her beau on a steamer bound for Paris. He waited and waited, but she never showed. And she was never seen again.”

“Intriguing,” Hugh mused. “It sounds as if you’ve stumbled across a bona fide mystery, Miss James. The game’s afoot.”

Holly stared at him in confusion. “The game’s...what?”

“Oh. Sorry,” he said. “It’s an old expression, often – and erroneously – credited to Sherlock Holmes but, in fact, Shakespeare originated the phrase in
Henry V
. It was part of Henry’s ‘once more into the breach’ speech.”

He cleared his throat, and in a clear, ringing voice he said: “‘I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game’s afoot! Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’”

In the silence that followed, Holly blinked in surprise. “Wow. I had no idea you were so...theatrical, Mr Darcy.”

He cleared his throat again, embarrassed. “Sorry, but
Henry V
has that effect on me, I’m afraid. I studied drama when I was younger, before I began to study law. I thought that I might tread the boards, but my shyness precluded it.”

“That’s too bad,” Holly said, and meant it. “You’re good. Not that I’m a Shakespearean expert,” she hastened to add.

“Yes, well, it’s meant to be a stirring speech, a rallying cry from Henry to his troops.” He smiled ruefully and lifted the folder in his hand. “I should stick to filing, I suppose.”

“No.” Holly shook her head firmly. “You should pursue your dream, Mr Darcy. If you like to act—”

“I do. But I also like to pay the bills,” he interjected, “and acting’s not something my family approves of. My father and Grandfather were both barristers, Miss James, and so I must carry on with the family tradition.”

“But you’re not being true to your
self
,” Holly pointed out. “That doesn’t seem fair at all.”

“Life is rarely fair. One does what one is compelled to do.”

“And are you?” she asked him, curious. “Are you compelled to practice law?”

“I find I’m good at it, and it pays very well.” His expression did not invite further questioning.

They’d made quite a dent in the stack of folders, Holly noticed as she grabbed another file. “You do a lot of legal research, I imagine.”

He nodded. “Not so much as I once did, but I know my way round a law library.” He glanced at her. “Why? Would you like help researching Daisy?”

Holly hesitated. Even though Hugh could be a bit pompous at times, and even though he’d put Coco’s phone number in his jacket pocket, she really did need his help.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I would.”

“Have you anything on for Sunday afternoon?” Hugh asked. “I could meet you at the library, if you like.”

“I can meet you at 2:00 p.m.. Does that work?”

“Yes. I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks.” She filed the last folder and shut the drawer with her hip. “And thanks for helping me file all this stuff.”

“You’re welcome, Miss...er, Holly.” He inclined his head politely, retrieved the folder he’d brought from Coco’s desk, and departed.

Holly stared after him in amazement. He’d finally called her by her first name, not ‘Miss James.’

Perhaps the glacier that was Hugh Darcy was melting just a tiny bit.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Natalie, a cup of herbal tea in hand, stood in front of the living room windows on Saturday morning and gazed out at Central Park. The weather already promised to be perfect.

Rhys had agreed to take the afternoon off and spend it with her, and she was really looking forward to it. They hadn’t spent an entire Saturday together since their arrival in New York.

What to do, she wondered, with so much on offer in Manhattan? They could visit the museums, or go to Central Park. They could stroll along Fifth Avenue and people-watch. They could have lunch at any of a dizzying number of restaurants.

The possibilities made her giddy with anticipation.

At eleven-thirty, as Natalie was debating whether to wear the red or black top with her skinny (but alas, elasticized) jeans, the phone rang, and she grabbed it. “Rhys?”

“Hello, darling.”

“Hi. Are you getting ready to come home? I have some ideas as to what we might do this afternoon, you only have to choose the one you like best—”

“I’m afraid,” he began carefully, “that I can’t.”

Natalie gripped the handset tighter. “What do you mean, you can’t? You can’t decide? Or you can’t come home?”

“I can’t come home. Not yet, at least.”

Disappointment swamped her. “But we had plans.”

“I know we did, darling, and I’m sorry. But...something’s come up, and I’ll be a bit late getting back.”

“Something’s come up?” she echoed. “What? You told me you’d cleared your desk so we could spend the rest of the day together.”

“I’m sorry.” He let out a short breath of frustration. “Coco’s just left and come back. Her car won’t start,” he added in a low voice, “and so I’ve called a tow truck and she’s asked me to take her to the mechanic’s shop and drop her off. What could I say? I can’t leave her stranded here.”

Coco
. Natalie’s eyes narrowed. Of course, she should’ve known that Rhys’s sexy promotions manager was behind this.

“You could say ‘no,’ for a start,” she retorted. “Isn’t there someone else who can take her?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Everyone else has already left.”

How convenient
.

“I’m just as disappointed as you, darling,” he assured her. “It shouldn’t take too long – maybe an hour, two at the most.”

Long enough to share passionate kisses in the lift with Coco
, Natalie thought, her heart sinking,
and long enough to have wild, monkey sex in Coco’s apartment
...

“So I’ll see you soon?” Rhys asked after the silence had stretched out.

“Yes,” Natalie said, and told herself she was being, as Holly would say, ridiculous. “I’ll see you soon.”

“This is incredibly ill mannered of me,” Ciaran said as his car arrived to pick Holly up late Saturday morning, “particularly since I’m dragging you out to look at apartments again, but I’m expecting an important call from my agent.” He tapped his cell phone. “I’m up for a part in a new film, and the casting director’s making his decision today. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course I don’t mind. How will you find the time, though? After all, you start taping your new show on Monday.”

He shrugged. “I’ll fit it in somehow. It’s a small part and it only pays scale...but the director is Mike Newby.”

“Wow! He’s really hot right now, isn’t he?”

“Almost as hot as you, Miss James. You look lovely.” He eyed her hot-pink skirt and matching tunic with approval.

“Ciaran,” she warned.

“No monkey business. I know.”

He got out and held the door of the Town Car open as Holly slid onto the back seat, then climbed in after her. “Central Park West, please,” he called out to the driver. “You have the addresses I gave you?”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said, and the car glided smoothly away from the curb and joined the flow of traffic headed uptown.

“So where are we going first?” Holly asked.

“The Dunleigh.”

“Nice,” she approved. “Natalie Dashwood-Gordon lives there, you know. She and her husband Rhys moved in not long ago. It’s a tough building to get into.”

He smiled briefly. “Not if you’re famous, or reasonably wealthy, or willing to flirt outrageously with the old bats on the co-op board.” He leaned forward. “Stop here, please. I need to run into Duane Reade.”

The driver nodded and double-parked in front of the drug store. A chorus of horns broke out behind them.

Ciaran turned to Holly. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a headache, and unless I take something now, it’ll only get worse. I’ll just be a moment.”

“No problem,” she assured him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Be right back,” he told her, and thrust on a pair of dark glasses. “Pete, drive around the block until I come back. You’ll get ticketed if you stay here.” He shut the door and strode across the sidewalk to the drug store.

Holly couldn’t help but admire his trim physique and dark good looks. Hard to believe she was going apartment hunting with Ciaran Duncan, international film star.

As the driver waited to maneuver the Lincoln back into traffic, she glanced down and saw Ciaran’s phone lying on the seat next to her. Shit...he might miss his agent’s phone call.

She pressed the button to slide her window down and cried after him, “Ciaran, wait! You forgot your phone!”

But he’d already vanished inside the drug store.

They’d barely driven halfway around the block when his phone began to buzz. Holly stared at it. Should she answer it? No; it was his personal phone, after all. On the other hand...what if it was the important call he was expecting? If she didn’t answer it, and he missed the call, it would all be her fault.

She’d let it ring, she decided, and it would go to voice mail. No need to pick it up...

But the angry buzzing continued, sending the phone skittering across the leather seat. Holly couldn’t stand it; she dived for it and pressed “Answer.”

Before she could speak, Coco’s plummy British voice said, “Hallo, Ciaran. I’m calling to invite you to the party.”

Holly stared at the phone. “Coco? What party? And why are
you
calling Ciaran?”

There was a pregnant pause. “Holly? Why are
you
picking up Ciaran’s phone?” Coco demanded.

Trust Coco to go straight on the attack
, Holly thought irritably. “I told you, he and I are apartment hunting today,” she said, carefully enunciating each word, “and he’s expecting an important call.” She couldn’t resist adding, “And it’s not yours.”

“I’ll call back later,” Coco snapped, and hung up.

“Who was that?” Ciaran asked as he returned with a bottle of aspirin in his hand. “My agent?”

Holly handed him the phone. “No. It was Coco.”

“Coco?” He looked genuinely confused. “Why would she call me?”

“Exactly what I wondered,” Holly replied coolly. “It was something to do with a party.”

“A party?” His face cleared. “Oh, that. She mentioned that your father’s planning a bash at the store next month. A costume ball, I believe.” He glanced over at her. “I’ll tell her I’ll clear my schedule and go, on one condition.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I want you to be my plus one.”

Holly crossed her arms loosely against her chest. “I can’t,” she said firmly, “And I can’t go out with you after today, not even for publicity. Jamie doesn’t like it. And I can hardly blame him.”

“And do you let Jamie dictate your behavior?”

Holly regarded him in irritation. “No, of course I don’t. But he’s my fiancé, Ciaran, and I don’t want to upset him.”

“Surely he understands the difference between fantasy and reality. And what we have,” he said as he took her hand, “is fantasy. It’s a fairy-tale relationship, Holly, spun from rumors and tabloid gossip for publicity’s sake, for the sole purpose of promoting your father’s department store. It isn’t real.” He released her hand. “I thought you understood that.”

“I do…”

“If you don’t wish to go to your father’s party with me, I completely understand.”

Holly flushed.
Great. Now she’d offended him
. “Ciaran, look, I’m sorry, I’m just in a bit of a muddle over all of this, and it’s causing a problem between me and Jamie...”

“Don’t give it another thought. I’m over it. I’d just as soon not discuss it any further, if you don’t mind.”

She glanced over at him in dismay. His face, behind his sunglasses, was inscrutable.

Shit
. Surely, Holly thought, Jamie wouldn’t object if she went to her father’s costume ball ‒ a work function, after all – with Ciaran. Jamie wouldn’t be able to go, at any rate; he’d be working, and she’d need an escort, wouldn’t she?

“You’re right,” she said with a sigh.

He glanced over at her. “Am I? About what?”

“I’m overreacting. Of course there’s nothing going on between us, there never has been. I’d be happy to go with you to D & J’s costume ball.”

His frosty expression thawed into a smile. “Good.” He took her hand once again and squeezed it. “You have to promise to wear a sexy costume, though. No nuns or clowns or burglars in striped jumpsuits.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Holly smiled back at him and relaxed against the seat, and focused her attention on studying the apartment brochure for the Dunleigh.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Rhys didn’t get back until nearly three that afternoon.