by Jade Beer
‘Aren’t you going on?’ She recognises the perky American enthusiasm immediately and spins around to see Ethan standing there beaming, while her face is a less attractive mix of confusion and shock. She feels her heart rate immediately pick up and the momentary awkwardness that comes from suddenly being confronted by someone and having nothing clever or funny to say. Why is it so hard to channel detached coolness in front of him?
‘Oh, er, aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ She’s obviously ecstatic he’s not.
‘Nope, I’ve been on all night. This is my usual route home. I love walking through the park and, well, I knew you’d be in here today. So, are you considering it?’ He’s close to her now, resting both arms on the barrier around the rink, but grinning sideways at her. He looks even more beautiful beyond the dimly lit coolness of the hotel and out in the mid-morning sun.
‘Er… I’m thinking about it. I mean, I’d like to, but I’ve never done it before and everyone’s in couples. I’m not sure it will be much fun on my own.’ She nods towards the romantic scene on the ice behind her.
‘Well, how are we going to solve that for you?’ He edges even more closely towards her, hands now thrust deep in the pockets of a black wool coat with the collar turned up, framing his face perfectly.
‘Maybe I’ll just watch for a while, build up to it? You never know, someone might take pity on me and offer to hold my hand.’ What the hell, she may as well throw the hint out there. He’s here now, seems a shame to waste him.
‘Come on! I can’t let you miss out on one of the great New York traditions, can I? What sort of man would that make me?’ His confidence is completely intoxicating, like he truly believes the two of them are about to step onto that ice and have the most romantic dance of all time, even if he might not yet have guessed at her level of captivation. Where do people learn how to be this self-assured, Nat’s wondering, as Ethan’s hand is on hers and he’s pulling her towards the kiosk, where everyone is swapping their warm winter shoes for uncomfortable skates.
Ethan steps onto the ice first, then spins effortlessly back towards Nat, holding two hands out towards her. He has clearly done this before. The second the tip of her first blade touches the ice, Nat can feel her whole body thrown off balance and Ethan slides forwards to steady her. He takes her left hand in his, holds it tight across her body, then slides his right arm around her waist, holding her close to him. They’re off, him far faster than she’s comfortable with, her doing that awful skate-walk thing that people do when they don’t trust themselves to stay upright.
After a couple of circuits, she’s getting the hang of it and Ethan loosens his grip so the two of them are skating wide apart now, just holding hands. He doesn’t take his eyes off her all the way around the rink as Nat whoops and screeches every time another skater gets within a metre of them. Then, with no warning, he takes her into the centre circle where some giant show-off is pirouetting, pulls firmly on her arm so she spins into his chest and then kisses her full on the lips while the two of them continue to slowly turn together. She can feel how soft his lips are, how fresh his breath is, and how much he wants this kiss. She’s returning it, allowing every bit of tension in her body to melt into him, holding him tight with both arms around his waist, while his hands are cradling her face. Her eyes are closed, forcing her to focus hard on every sensation she’s feeling. Then their tongues are gently exploring each other, and she can actually feel herself go weak in his arms. It’s the stuff of pure fantasy and even as the kiss is lingering, she knows it will never happen to her again. Not like this. Not in this lifetime. She is kissing a total stranger, on the ice rink, in the middle of Central Park, and it feels incomparable to anything else.
Finally, Ethan pulls his lips away from her and whispers in Nat’s ear, ‘I just knew that was going to be good. Can I do it again?’ And he does, without waiting for her answer. By the time they are making their way back to the side of the rink, Nat’s not sure she can handle much more of this.
‘Fancy some company today? I don’t want to let you go just yet.’
Is he actually kidding? Nat can think of no better plan than to hang out with this beautiful creature all day, allowing him to kiss her whenever the urge strikes. No British man has ever made her feel so desirable so quickly and it’s a feeling she wants to wallow in for as long as she can hold onto Ethan today. They exit the park and continue to walk in the direction of downtown, holding hands like they’ve been dating for months.
‘So, is there anyone special at home, Miss Baker?’
‘I think you can probably call me Nat now, don’t you? And no, there hasn’t been for a long time. I’ve been too wrapped up in work for the past few years to really focus on starting a relationship.’
‘And what’s work? What do you do, Nat?’
‘Um…’ She really doesn’t want to tell Ethan the truth. He might not understand, think it’s a bit weird or that she hasn’t got a proper job, and she cares about his opinion.
‘I’m sort of a wedding planner, kind of.’ Hopefully, that will satisfy him.
‘Great! You’ll be brilliant at planning our wedding then.’ He doesn’t laugh at all as he says it, just continues to direct her through the crowds that are building now they’re back on Fifth Avenue and approaching the New York Public Library. ‘Shall we grab a coffee?’
He buys them two flat whites from a nearby coffee cart and they take a seat on the huge stone staircase leading up to the library entrance, surrounded by school groups and tourists taking a pit stop.
‘How about your love life?’ Nat asks, as they get settled next to each other.
‘Nah! Despite all evidence to the contrary, it’s actually quite hard to meet women in the hotel business. Well, I meet plenty of them, but not necessarily ones you want to take home to meet Mom, you know? I also travel a fair bit. I’m training, so I move across different countries, doing placements in different roles. I guess it would be hard to find a girlfriend who would be happy with that. Life gets a little lonely.’
It’s incredible, thinks Nat, she has known this guy for barely a few hours and he’s being more honest and open with her than men she’s dated for months back home. Why? Because he knows she’ll soon be gone so what does it matter? Maybe. But who cares? For now, he’s hers and she’s going to enjoy every moment with him.
‘I get it. Isn’t it when you’re surrounded by the most people that you often feel the most alone?’ She allows her head to drop onto his shoulder and feels him do the same, resting his head on hers, then tilting his face to plant a few soft kisses across her forehead. Two kindred spirits that fate has thrown together for a fleeting moment in a foreign city. Nat takes as long as she can to drain her coffee cup.
‘Well, I’d better get home for a shower and freshen up.’ Ethan sits upright. ‘I’m in again tomorrow, so maybe I’ll see you then?’ He looks hopeful, but Nat is suddenly struggling to remain composed. She wants to shout NO! at him. Stay with me – forever if you like.
‘If you keep heading south from here you’ll hit Madison Square Park and the Flatiron Building. Then, if you’ve had enough walking, hop in a cab to Greenwich Village, Soho and Little Italy. There are some great restaurants there too. Do you have plans to meet your friend later for dinner?’
‘Yes! Join us! We’re going to a little Italian place on Cornelia Street. The reservation’s for eight o’clock.’ Oh God, she sounds desperate. Would it be too rude to text Betsy and tell her she’ll have to make do with room service on her own tonight because Nat’s got a date?
‘Not Palma?’
‘Yes, d’you know it?’
‘It’s my favourite restaurant in the whole of New York City. They have the most amazing courtyard that’s always full of flowers, whatever the season. I’d love to go with you, Nat, but I don’t want to crash your evening. Won’t your friend be annoyed?’
‘God, no! She’d love to see you, I’m sure.’ Nat doesn’t know this at all, but if she doesn’t see Et
han tonight, she might not see him ever again and she wouldn’t mind a few more of those kisses before then.
‘OK, here’s my number.’ He hands her his business card. ‘If it’s any problem at all, just call or text. I won’t be offended. Otherwise, I’ll see you there.’
‘It won’t be, I promise. See you later.’ This time it’s Nat who kisses Ethan. She starts on his right cheek, but he isn’t satisfied with that. He pulls her to her feet and kisses her on the lips. It’s passionate but brief this time. ‘I have to go,’ he says, ‘before I try to convince you to come home with me.’ Then he’s gone, before Nat even has chance to say she’d love to.
* * *
Palma is every bit as beautiful as Ethan suggested it would be; its pale terracotta walls bathe the whole restaurant in a romantic glow. The main restaurant, where they are seated, has about a dozen trattoria-style wooden tables and chairs and a bar that runs nearly the entire length of the room. There are tea lights flickering all along the bar and an oversized urn stuffed with branches of flowering pink camellias, while each table has its own little earthenware pot of white gardenias. It’s so pretty. Perfect, in fact.
Nat texted Betsy to let her know Ethan would be joining them and while she sounded all breezy with her no probs, I’ll change the booking response, it’s not until she sees the two of them together that Nat really relaxes. Ethan’s chatting Betsy through the menu, asking about her day and offering all the advice he can on real estate opportunities in the city. All the staff seem to know him and make a point of coming over to shake his hand and let him know what’s good to order today.
They’re two bottles of Chianti and three plates of meatballs, risotto and pappardelle in, when Ethan excuses himself and moves to the bar briefly to chat to what Nat assumes must be the owner.
‘Nat, he adores you!’ Betsy looks every bit as excited as Nat feels. Or maybe that’s just the effect of the bottle of wine she’s polished off by herself.
‘Really? D’you think? Oh my God, I love him! I can’t even try to be cool about it!’
‘I can see that. You’ve got to invite him to London, I bet he’d come.’ Betsy is slurring her words and it’s only now Nat is registering that she’s not really eaten much, preferring the wine instead.
‘I’m so sorry, Betsy, I haven’t even asked about your day. Was it OK? Did you get everything done?’ Nat spoons the last of the buffalo ricotta cheesecake into her mouth, full already, but unable to resist its rich, creamy gooiness.
‘Yeah, all fine.’ But Betsy doesn’t look particularly fine. She’s got the fuzzy glaze of someone who needs to stop drinking, all her focus gone now that Ethan has taken his inquisitive charm to the bar. ‘Well, I’m not really fine. Work stuff’s all good, but I’ve been fending off irritated texts from Mum all day. She’s really running out of patience with me. Jacob’s busy booking a week away without me and Dylan has broken his promise to leave me alone this week, so I can get my head around everything.’ Betsy pours more Chianti down her throat and Nat can see they’re going to need to call time on this evening soon.
‘I know it might look impossible now, Betsy, but you’ll sort it all out. Just try to enjoy your last day tomorrow and then tackle it all when you get back – one thing at a time.’ Nat’s talking to Betsy, but her eyes are wandering across the room to Ethan. He’s leaning over the bar, enjoying a joke with the guys behind it, but every few seconds he glances over his shoulder and smiles at her. How bad would it be to stick Betsy in a cab and go home with him tonight? She can’t remember the last time she felt so instantly, insanely, attracted to someone. It’s painful. Urgh! But she knows she can’t abandon Betsy, it wouldn’t be fair.
Her phone pings and against her better judgement she decides to read the email that lands. It’s from a bride-to-be, keen to get an initial meeting in with her. The wedding is next spring and she wants to hire Nat because both sides of the wedding party are already at each other’s throats and she needs a neutral referee to navigate them through the planning and up the aisle. It’s another job Nat won’t be accepting. She needs to make some changes in her life, she knows that. But what? If she’s not going to be a pro bridesmaid anymore, what is she going to do? Preferably something that will allow her to make more time for her totally neglected love life.
‘Let me just say goodbye to Ethan and we’ll get going, shall we?’ Betsy is really starting to fade, the jet-lag and emotions of the day all catching up with her, as she’s distracted by more messages on her phone.
Nat moves to the bar, where Ethan’s hands are immediately on her. ‘I don’t want to go home without you,’ he whispers in her ear. ‘Let’s stay up all night together.’ But one look at Betsy slumped over the table tells him it’s not going to happen. She’s beyond just being plonked in a cab so the two of them can spend long, lusty hours devouring each other.
‘Let me at least see you tomorrow then. Please?’ Then he’s kissing her again, not caring for one second that everyone behind the bar is openly staring at the two of them and shooting each other surprised grins.
‘Of course, yep, let’s do that.’ Nat turns to gather up Betsy and sees that tears have started to roll down her face.
‘Leave the bill to me, you need to get going,’ offers Ethan. ‘Go on, get her back to the hotel and I’ll sort this out. Unless you want my help?’
‘I’ll be fine, thanks. But tomorrow’s on me, OK?’ More kisses, then they have to part.
As soon as Nat and Betsy step out into the bracing night air, Betsy loses what little composure she has left and is crying all over Nat as they both bundle into a cab.
‘I’ve just sent the most stupid text message to Mum,’ she sobs.
‘It can’t be that bad. Come on, you’re just tired, you need a good night’s sleep.’
‘Trust me, it is. I’m screwed. She’s never going to forgive me.’ Betsy has her head in her hands now, totally inconsolable.
It’s a bad end to a wonderful day. Nat knows she should ask what the hell was in that text, but her head is too full of Ethan and Betsy’s sobs are fading quicker than the passing headlights.
23
Betsy
The last thing Betsy needs with a headache this thunderous is a perky, optimistic American, especially one who is on full audition mode and doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word modesty.
She’s interviewing potential managers for the New York office all morning. Well, pretending to. What she’s actually doing is thinking about Dylan, Jacob and the crass text she sent to her mum last night, knowing how disappointed she’ll be to read it. Words that were bashed out when the Chianti convinced her she didn’t care.
* * *
I can’t do it. I don’t want to marry him, Mum. I can’t face it. I’m sorry.
* * *
When she woke this morning, it was a full hour before she remembered. She got up, thrust some painkillers down, saw off a litre of ice-cold water from the minibar, scrubbed away the stench of last night’s booze in the shower and confirmed her plans for the day with Nat. Then, as she was about to order room service, it hit her. The memory came firing out of nowhere. The totally unretractable text. All those weeks of pretending to her mum that everything was fine and when she is finally ready to admit it isn’t, she chose the most cowardly way possible to tell her. Causing her mum any sadness, when she’s had more than her fair share in life, is what’s really making Betsy feel so lousy. The reply was immediate and ambiguous, at least Betsy’s paranoia tells her it is.
* * *
Oh Betsy, come home, darling.
* * *
‘You’ll see from my résumé, I am more than qualified to run this business for you. I have the experience, the motivation, the perfect personality and all the contacts you need to headhunt the best people. I will be looking for a package that reflects that and…’
Oh, please do sod off, Ashley! Betsy badly wants to say it, but lets her disinterested face do the talking instead – not that it’s maki
ng this interviewee break stride. While Ashley takes her through the salary, perks and incentive scheme she will demand to come on board, Betsy’s wondering what her mum is thinking. Is she feeling horribly let down? Disappointed? Is she feeling nothing but great sympathy for Betsy right now? Is there going to be a serious dressing-down when she gets back, for wasting everyone’s time and money? It’s just impossible to tell from those five words.
She casts a look at her phone messages. Worryingly, there’s nothing more from Mum, but there is one from Dylan that makes a flare of excitement sweep up through her entire body.
* * *
I miss you. There are things I need to say. Things I need to do. x
* * *
Ashley may as well not be in the room for all the attention Betsy is paying her now. Mercifully, she’s the last candidate she’s seeing today. And she has precisely no chance of landing this job anyway. Far too much ego, too little humility; too many forced good manners, not enough natural sincerity. Then again, who is Betsy to be so judgemental?
And why hasn’t Jacob made contact? She’s heard nothing from him since she left London and it hurts, actually. Long gone are the days when, if work or their social lives forced them apart, they would send constant text updates on their whereabouts. There was a time when she would have told him she was about to take off, that she’d just landed, was in the cab, arriving at the hotel. Not any more. And neither does he. As Betsy is having her fingers near-crushed by Ashley’s handshake as she’s finally leaving, she’s trying to work out if there was ever an obvious downhill turning point in their relationship, or has it been a steady slow decline into not caring? Maybe that’s what happens to all once-happy couples. First, they stop sitting at their respective desks each day daydreaming about each other. Then, before they know it, they’re only making themselves a cup of tea, forgetting birthdays, and she’s not bothering to put make-up on at the weekends. Next thing you know, he’s on Rightmove and they’re arguing over custody of the bird table. And all because one morning they just stopped kissing each other goodbye before work.