Two For Joy (44 page)

He saw a dusty, maroon Vauxhall Vento drive on to the forecourt. The driver, a crusty middle-aged bachelor farmer, eased his lanky frame out of the car. Neil had persuaded him to trade in for a brand new BMW. It had been hard work and it was only when Neil assured him that women went mad for new Beemers that Morris Mullen had taken the bait.

It was another hour before Morris finally drove off, proud as punch in his new car. Neil bent his head to finish the paperwork. The new girl he'd taken on to look after the office had flatly refused to work Saturdays and she was a stickler for leaving at five on the dot too. Neil chewed the top of his pen and gazed unseeingly out of the big plate-glass windows. The last six weeks had been a nightmare, from the moment Heather had come up the stairs with that damn email. He hadn't covered his tracks very well, he had to admit. He should have deleted the damn thing. He'd thought he had.

Heather would have found out about him spending the night with her cousin one way or another. Sleeping with Lorna in the Lake View was a really daft thing to do, no doubt about it. But then, how many men got to pull a classy bird like Lorna Morgan? It had been an intensely satisfying encounter. She was a challenge and he wanted more, but Lorna hadn't got in touch since that unexpected email inviting him to spend a weekend in New York. To issue an invite like that and then ignore him was downright rude and that pissed him off big time. He hated the idea that he was only a one-night stand for her.

They could go places together, climb up the social ladder, be a powerful team. The more he got involved in the business the more he realized how important business and social contacts were. Lorna could be a huge asset to him if she were willing to be in a relationship with him. And if that happened it would be worth the break-up with Heather.

Heather was a great girl. She was a tremendous organizer, great for giving encouragement, great for listening to his plans, but she was a small-town girl. Provincial, parochial. There'd been no challenge in getting Heather into his bed. She was a soft touch with few ambitions.

Lorna was a sophisticate who could carry herself anywhere and she looked the part. Her dress sense far outshone Heather's and she had a figure to really carry it off. He wanted her. He wanted to show her just how far he could climb. He knew she looked down her nose at him and he wanted that to change. One day Lorna Morgan would look at him with respect, even awe, in her eyes, he daydreamed, gazing around at his chrome and glass showrooms with pride. He missed Heather at work, he couldn't deny it, but at night in the dark it was Lorna he lusted after and Lorna he fantasized about.

Neil felt a stirring of desire, remembering their night together. Resolutely he bent his head and finished his paperwork. He could do with a bit of breakfast and a cup of coffee, he was hungry. He wondered could he risk Fred's. If that idiot Tom was working he wouldn't bother. Shoving him out the door like that. That had been embarrassing. He scowled at the memory.

What a comedown for Heather to end up working in a fast-food joint. Surely she could have found a better job for herself, she was so capable and qualified? He shouldn't have gone into Fred's shouting the odds, he supposed, but he was as mad as hell and under pressure. He'd had to get someone in to sort out the desktop and it had cost him a pretty penny.

He felt a dart of guilt. He'd treated her extremely badly, he knew that. He'd been shocked at her vindictiveness, mucking up the files in the computer and even taking the curtains off the windows, but he understood it, respected it even. If she'd said and done nothing, he would have respected her less. His sleeping with Lorna would have cut her to the quick. He'd betrayed her, there was no denying it, but at the end of the day a man had to look out for himself, and a woman like Lorna would be a far better asset on his arm climbing up the social ladder. Heather had no ambitions, Lorna had. He recognized a kindred spirit in her. If only she'd bloody well get in touch. He didn't like the feeling of being used – it brought back bitter memories. Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt. Women were horrible creatures sometimes. And yet, the one woman who had treated him with love, respect and consideration was the one he had treated most shabbily. In spite of himself, he felt ashamed.

‘Oh, for God's sake,' he muttered irritably, not enjoying his moment of introspection. He flung his pen on the desk and grabbed his jacket. He was going to have a fry-up and to hell with whoever was in Fred's. Heather didn't work on Saturdays as far as he could see. That only left Sir Galahad to deal with.

Fortunately the Karate Kid wasn't on duty, and Neil ordered the full Monty. Now that Heather was no longer cooking for him, his diet had gone to the dogs, he thought ruefully. He glanced at his watch. Almost eleven. New York was five hours behind; Lorna no doubt was catching up on her beauty sleep in some posh uptown pad. She'd probably already met some wealthy yuppie guy and she'd never again look down her pert little nose at him.

‘Get in touch, Lorna, get in touch,' he muttered as the smell of sizzling bacon wafted through Fred's Fast Food Emporium.

*   *   *

Lorna groaned as the shrill penetrating ring of the alarm clock brought her reluctantly to consciousness. She couldn't face going into work this morning. She'd spent the previous night at a club in TriBeCa, drinking cocktails, and she was in flitters. Her feet still ached from standing in her pointy, backbreakingly high Manolos. They had cost a week's salary.

She sat up in bed and ran her fingers through her hair. It was dark and the rest of the house was quiet. Carina and her friends were going skiing in the Catskills for the day, but Lorna really needed to work. Saturday was the best day for getting tips in the Times Square diner that she worked in. Unfortunately, she was rostered on the early shift and it was a bummer. If she didn't go in, Zack Pedroski, the owner, would kick her out. She'd missed a shift once and he'd told her in no uncertain terms that two strikes and she was out. ‘Ya don't get more than one chance in my diner,' he warned.

‘Ah, stick your diner,' she muttered aloud, tempted beyond measure to snuggle back down and go asleep, and then wake up and ride into Manhattan and eat brunch in a posh uptown restaurant before spending the day shopping on Fifth Avenue. But she was smashed, totally smashed. She had to make enough money for her rent this week. She shouldn't have bought the damn sandals. They were her first Manolos, and she'd been on such a high buying them, even Carina had been impressed.

Being broke was the pits. New York was heaven and hell, she decided as she got out of bed and gingerly made her way down the hall to the bathroom. Her head throbbed. She'd really hit the sauce last night. The loose group she socialized with played hard. Those cocktails were knockout strong. For an hour or two she'd felt like Samantha, her heroine in
Sex and the City,
but the reality was so different.

Being a waitress was the worst thing. She was going to get an office job come hell or high water. It was difficult though. She'd tried a few places. Everybody was tightening up after 9/11 and she had no visa. Once she had a green card she could come back and try again, she was told. Zack Pedroski didn't worry about the niceties like green cards and visas. As long as people covered their shifts efficiently, he didn't care if they came from the moon.

It was hard to believe she'd been in New York six weeks. It was the most wonderful, vibrant, magnificent, noisy, brash, dirty city. It was everything she'd dreamed of and more. If only she was loaded, she'd adore it. If she were as rich as Charlotte in
Sex and the City,
she would be perfectly happy. She'd live in a duplex on Madison or Park, and spend her days in Saks and Armani's and Bergdorf's and Tiffany's. She'd never forget the first time she'd seen Tiffany's. She'd walked past it, so understated and elegant and not at all what she was expecting. The small, perfectly dressed window so at odds with the larger, brasher stores. She thought she'd faint with excitement and frustration as she entered its hallowed portals, which oozed class. To be in the place of her dreams and have no money to spend was the pits. She'd wandered around looking longingly at the glorious jewellery and the silver giftware that made the most perfect presents and felt totally inadequate. Tiffany's was out of her league and that disturbed her greatly.

In her heart and soul, Lorna admitted that in New York you had to work hard to get places, and working hard was not her. She'd hoped at this stage to have met a rich eligible, but even though she was looking her best and wearing classy clothes, she was one of thousands with the same ideal, and there were far more women than men in the cocktail bars and at the parties she'd so far attended. Her confidence was wavering big-time.

Lorna brushed her teeth. She felt like crying. She had a hangover, her period was killing her and she had to go and spend the next eight hours toing and froing carrying heavy trays, clearing tables, and having to listen to whinging kids change their minds a dozen times while she waited to take their order. This had not been the plan at all. She wouldn't be seen dead waitressing at home, but she was broke and she needed the money.

The first week in the city had been the most exciting, exhilarating week of her life. She'd flashed her father's money around with abandon. If her life was like it had been those first few mind-blowing days she'd be in Paradise, she reflected, shivering as she hurried back to her small bedroom.

Coming in to land at JFK and seeing the unmistakable skyline in the distance as they made their approach had been a truly memorable moment. Carina's friend Fiona had met them in arrivals and the drive from the airport had been the most nerve-racking experience. New York drivers were crazy, the honking of car horns a nerve-jangling cacophony. The famous yellow cabs dominated the streets and she couldn't wait to stand on Fifth Avenue and yell ‘Taxi!' just like her heroines. Preferably carrying large carrier bags with prestigious names emblazoned on them.

The nearer they got to Manhattan the more excited Carina and herself became, pointing at this and that, gazing at the skyscrapers in the distance. As they drove across town towards Grand Central Station, Lorna felt she had died and gone to heaven. They were taking the train to Yonkers but Lorna wanted to dump her luggage and begin exploring immediately. Carina and Fiona were deep in conversation, catching up on news and gossip, and Lorna felt impatient with them that they were perfectly content to carry on to the suburbs when the city of cities waited to be experienced.

Dragging their luggage through Grand Central and down to the subway was not a pleasant experience, and Lorna was crotchety as they sat on the swaying train, leaving Manhattan behind. As they rode north, Lorna was surprised at how green the countryside was. Yonkers was only a short distance from the Catskill Mountains. She and her friends spent a lot of time skiing and walking the trails, Fiona told them. Walking in mountains was not what she had come to America for, Lorna thought sulkily. She might try skiing, but it was so bitingly cold, she didn't think it would really be her scene. The journey to Yonkers took less than half an hour and that cheered her up. At least she wouldn't be spending hours commuting.

The house they were to share was in the suburb of Woodlawns. A two-storey over basement. It had a surprisingly large back garden with a patio area. People lived on their patios in summer, Fiona assured them. The front was open-plan. So middle-class, Lorna relected, not New York hip, and not for her. As soon as she could she was going to get a place in Manhattan.

Lorna smiled at her naïvety as she sat on the train waiting to go to work. She'd gone into Manhattan the next day with Carina and they had spent a fortune. That whole week they'd eaten out, hailed taxis with abandon, bought clothes that cost an arm and a leg, and had a ball. The next week they'd gone waitressing in an attempt to repair the damage to their finances.

Lorna, fed on a diet of glossy novels where heroines arrived in New York and plum opportunities, not to mention sexy men, dropped in their laps, soon had a good dollop of reality. Fiona and her friends were perfectly content to work double shifts waitressing and to party hard with their boyfriends, mostly builders and electricians. All Irish. Lorna didn't want Irish. That was why she had come to New York. She wanted glitz and glamour and she certainly wasn't going to get it hanging around Rory Dolan's Irish bar, or in the little delis and bars on McClean Avenue. She might as well be living in Rathmines or Ranelagh for all the good it was doing her.

And she was permanently cold, she thought dolefully as the train rattled into Ludlow. She knew the names of all the stations now. Riverdale was next, she might as well have been on the Dart. A drunk got on at Morris Heights and swayed down towards her. She froze. The carriage was only a third full, and she hoped he'd leave her alone and not start to annoy her. He fell into a seat and Lorna breathed a sigh of relief as they rolled through Harlem towards 126
th
Street. It was bad enough having drunks on the train at night, but not at the crack of dawn.

It was a bitterly cold morning as she emerged from Grand Central, and as she always did, she looked up at the Chrysler building. It was still hard to believe she was in Manhattan. Dawn was streaking across the eastern sky. Skiing in the Catskills suddenly seemed inviting as she trudged across town to Times Square and another day's drudgery.

Late afternoon found her marching wearily along West 57th, an Internet printout clutched in her hand. ‘Uptown but not Uptight' was the motto of Le Parker Meridian, and they had the only glass enclosed rooftop pool in Manhattan. Two blocks south of Central Park, she could see Fifth Avenue from where she was standing. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders as she walked into the classy foyer. Minimalist chic, a little like the Clarence, she noted, impressed. She wouldn't mind working here. Her mother would love it. She marched over to the concierge service and waited for someone to deal with her. After a moment or two a young man smiled politely and asked if he could help. Lorna explained that she was inviting her mother to stay in New York for a week and was looking for a suitable hotel. She was particularly interested in the pool area, could she view it? The young man called one of the bellhops over and asked him to escort Lorna to the 42nd floor. A small TV in the elevator showed Laurel and Hardy and a couple, arms entwined, giggled as it moved smoothly upwards.