Alice-Miranda In New York 5

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘We’re heading over to the Met for art class,’ the man replied.

  ‘The Met!’ Alice-Miranda exclaimed. ‘Really? That’s wonderful!’

  The rest of the class giggled and stared.

  Alice-Miranda had read all about the Metropolitan Museum of Art in her guidebook. Renowned as one of the finest galleries in the world and housing an extensive collection of art and antiquities, it was on her list of places to visit.

  ‘We go there every week,’ Lucinda whispered to Alice-Miranda. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad someone apart from me thinks that it is.’ Felix Underwood’s bionic teacher ears overheard Lucinda’s comment and he grinned at his new student. ‘I love your enthusiasm, Alice-Miranda. If you keep it up we might just trade one of the girls here for you – permanently. I’m sure they’d just love boarding school.’

  The rest of the class groaned. ‘Sir!’

  ‘Lucinda and Ava, can I entrust Alice-Miranda to your care for break time?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the two girls chorused.

  ‘Hey, what about me?’ demanded another girl with black hair braided into cornrows and tied in a ponytail.

  ‘Okay, you too Quincy, but don’t you go leading this young one astray,’ the teacher advised.

  ‘Not yet, Mr Underwood. I’ll wait until lunchtime,’ Quincy replied cheekily.

  An ear-splitting bell rang through the school, quickly followed by the thundering feet of hundreds of girls as they raced along the hallways. Mrs Kimmel’s was set over six floors, including two in the basement which housed the gymnasium and the cafeteria. A rooftop terrace jutted out from the rear of the third level, with the tiniest of playgrounds.

  ‘Where do we go?’ asked Alice-Miranda. She was swept along with her new friends down several flights of stairs, where they were brought to a halt by the long line in the cafeteria.

  Despite being in the basement of the building, the space was light and airy with tables for six along the walls and some booths tucked around the corner from the serving area. Fake windows were painted on the walls with real shutters attached, giving the impression that there was a garden just outside.

  ‘I hope you like fruit,’ Quincy turned around and informed her new friend, ‘because Miss Hobbs is on a health food drive.’

  Ava smiled at Alice-Miranda. ‘That’s not true at all. The student council voted for it. And there are cheese and crackers too. And it’s fruit kebabs, actually.’

  The girls proceeded along the edge of the counter. Alice-Miranda picked up a fruit stick and a napkin and followed her new friends.

  ‘Come on, let’s get a table before they’re all gone.’ Quincy urged the girls towards a booth on the edge of the room. The cafeteria was crowded with girls chatting and eating their morning tea.

  Ava slid into the bench with Lucinda beside her and Alice-Miranda sat opposite, next to Quincy.

  ‘So, do you have a cafeteria like this at your school?’ Lucinda asked.

  ‘No, we have a dining room where all of the girls come together at breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea and then again for dinner. Mrs Smith is our cook and she makes the most delicious food – although the girls tell me she’s improved quite a lot in the past little while. I have to say her chocolate brownies are probably some of the best anywhere in the world. She packs them with walnuts and they have exactly the right amount of squishiness.’

  ‘Mmm, yum, I love brownies. Can she send over a box – or make that two?’ Quincy licked her lips. ‘Better still, maybe she can come and work at Mrs Kimmel’s for a little while,’ Quincy suggested. ‘Cos we’re on starvation here.’

  ‘Mrs Smith would love that. Her grandchildren live in America.’ Alice-Miranda picked up the fruit stick, devouring the strawberries, banana and watermelon along the line. ‘And this is delicious.’

  ‘So where are you staying while you’re here, Alice-Miranda?’ Quincy asked.

  ‘We have an apartment above the shop,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘It’s about ten blocks away.’

  Lucinda Finkelstein’s ears pricked up.

  ‘Do your parents own a store?’ she asked, already quite sure of the answer.

  ‘Yes. Well, it was started by my great-great-grandfather but now Mummy’s sort of in charge since Grandpa passed away. Aunt Charlotte works with her too and Daddy helps out but he’s quite busy with his own work,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘Which one is it?’ Ava locked eyes with their new friend.

  ‘It’s called Highton’s on Fifth,’ Alice-Miranda smiled.

  ‘Highton’s on Fifth. Oh my gosh, that’s my favourite store in the whole city!’ Ava gushed. ‘No offence, Lucinda, but Highton’s is so beautiful and I can’t wait until it reopens. My grandmother takes me there so we can look at all the window displays each season. We love how they always have themes. Last year there were fairies in the garden for springtime. They looked so real I could have sworn I saw them moving.’

  ‘I didn’t see that.’ Alice-Miranda shook her head. ‘I haven’t been here since I was four. But it sounds wonderful.’

  ‘My mom always takes me to see Santa at Highton’s,’ Quincy added. ‘Their Christmas Cave is the best.’

  Alice-Miranda wished that she could see the store throughout the year – it sounded like everyone loved it. At least she could learn about it from her new friends.

  ‘What about you, Lucinda? Do you ever visit Highton’s?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  Lucinda fiddled with a rogue strand of hair. She took a bite of banana and did her best to avoid the question, praying that the bell would go.

  ‘It’s all right, Lucinda. I completely understand if you don’t. Shopping isn’t everyone’s cup of tea – a lot of the time I prefer just to look at the beautiful displays. Like on the way here this morning, Mummy and I walked past Finkelstein’s and they had the most gorgeous show of roses in their windows. There were hundreds and hundreds of them. Mummy and I just stopped and stared for at least five minutes.’

  Lucinda felt her stomach knot, just like it had on the weekend when she heard her father talking to the newspaper article.

  ‘I don’t go,’ she mumbled, her tongue probing at the mashed banana that was now firmly stuck in her braces.

  ‘Come on, Lucinda. Tell Alice-Miranda the truth. Your father would kill you if you walked within a block of Highton’s,’ Ava revealed.

  ‘Why?’ Alice-Miranda was wide-eyed. ‘Is it in a dangerous part of the city?’

  ‘No.’ Ava grinned and shook her head.

  ‘Well, if it’s not dangerous then why aren’t you allowed to go there?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘It seems the same rules don’t apply for your family, Alice-Miranda,’ Ava began. ‘I wonder what your father would think, Lucinda, knowing that Alice-Miranda and her mother were admiring your window displays?’

  Lucinda looked up at Alice-Miranda.

  ‘I’m not allowed to go there because my father forbids it,’ Lucinda offered. ‘Because I . . .’ she faltered. ‘I’m a . . .’

  Lucinda and Alice-Miranda said it together: ‘Finkelstein.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful,’ Alice-Miranda smiled.

  ‘How?’ Lucinda wondered how much trouble she would be in if her father knew Alice-Miranda was in her class, let alone that she’d been assigned to look after her. ‘We’re not supposed to be friends.’

  ‘Do you know why?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  Lucinda shook her head. ‘I’ve got no idea. I just know that I’m not allowed to go to your store and my father really doesn’t like your mother.’

  ‘Oh dear. Apparently there’s some long-running family feud between the Hightons and the Finkelsteins that dates back to when the stores were first opened. Mummy was telling me as much as she knew this mor
ning. And no one really knows what it’s about – well, except I think your father might. But he won’t give Mummy a straight answer. So this is perfect,’ Alice-Miranda gushed.

  ‘This is a disaster,’ Lucinda corrected her. ‘You’re just another friend I can’t have.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘If anyone tells my father that I’ve met you, let alone that we’re in the same class, he’ll be so mad, he’ll phone Miss Hobbs and demand that you be moved. He’ll yell at me.’ Lucinda’s eyes glistened.

  ‘But that’s just silly. Whatever problem our great-great-grandfathers had with each other has nothing to do with us. And if anything, our being friends is the best possible thing in the world,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Perhaps together we can solve that silly old mystery. But why did you say “another friend”?’

  Ava and Quincy exchanged glances.

  ‘Lucinda’s not allowed to be friends with us either,’ Quincy started.

  ‘We’re not on the same social scale as her,’ Ava added.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, her mother and father have carefully selected her friends for her and they go every Saturday afternoon to their salon at Finkelstein’s to meet up,’ Ava explained.

  ‘And we’re not invited,’ Quincy added. ‘We’re not the right kind of people.’

  ‘The right kind of people?’ Alice-Miranda frowned. ‘But you’re good friends at school?’

  Lucinda nodded. ‘Quincy and Ava are my best friends in the world.’

  ‘Come on, Finkelstein.’ Quincy looked at her. ‘We’re your only friends in the world. We love you no matter how weird your parents are.’

  ‘But I don’t understand why you can’t be friends,’ said Alice-Miranda. ‘You go to the same school and you live in the same city.’

  ‘Yes, but Ava’s here on –’ Quincy and Ava glanced at each other, and then Quincy whispered – ‘scholarship, and my parents own a jazz club.’

  ‘We’re really inappropriate,’ Ava added.

  ‘But that’s wonderful!’ Alice-Miranda fizzed. ‘Mrs Kimmel’s is a lovely school and I’m sure that it’s very expensive so it’s important to have scholarships so lots of girls get to come here. And owning a jazz club sounds amazing.’

  ‘Gee, I wish everyone thought like you,’ Ava grinned.

  ‘We have girls on scholarships at my school at home. It would be terribly dull if everyone was exactly the same,’ Alice-Miranda explained.

  ‘My father wants me to be friends with people who are just “like us”,’ Lucinda put invisible quotation marks around her words in the air.

  ‘So why don’t you spend time with the girls from the salon at school?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Because I don’t think they like me very much and that’s okay because I don’t like them either. Some of them go to other schools and the ones who come here, well, we just say hi but we don’t hang out,’ Lucinda replied.

  ‘Well, that’s just silly. You and me probably have the most in common when it comes to our families, Lucinda, and you’ve just told me that your father wouldn’t allow us to be friends because of some ridiculous old family feud,’ Alice-Miranda shook her head.

  The shrill ringing of the bell interrupted the girls’ conversation.

  ‘Come on.’ Quincy slid out of the booth, followed by Alice-Miranda. On the opposite side Ava and Lucinda did the same.

  The girls raced upstairs to their lockers to grab their sketchbooks and pencils, and then headed for the back door.

  Excuse me a moment.’ Hugh Kennington-Jones walked away from the group of staff he had been discussing floor layouts with and answered his phone.

  ‘Hello, Hugh Kennington-Jones speaking. Oh, hello Hector.’

  Hugh stood behind a male mannequin dressed in a dapper cream sports jacket and navy pants.

  ‘What do you mean you’re in New York? Oh.’ Hugh paused for a moment. ‘I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.’

  Hugh terminated the call and walked back towards the group.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, folks, but I have to duck out for a while. Can I leave the rest of the decisions in your capable hands, Marcel? It’s looking great – product placement’s very logical. I’m sure Ralph and Calvin will be pleased.’

  A dark-haired man in a smart pinstripe suit nodded.

  ‘Of course, sir. Thank you.’

  Hugh wove his way through the racks of clothing that were scattered around the floor. A lone carpenter was putting the finishing touches on one of the designer showroom areas, screwing the last sign into place.

  Hugh exited the shop floor and ducked through to the private elevator in the rear passageway. He hopped in and rode it down to their parking garage.

  ‘Seamus, could you give me a lift?’ he called to the chauffeur who was sitting inside the workshop with his head buried in The Post.

  ‘Of course, sir, where would you like to go?’

  ‘The Carlyle.’

  Seamus held open the rear door and Hugh got into the vehicle.

  Within a few minutes the limousine turned into Park Avenue and then travelled a handful of blocks uptown.

  ‘I wonder how the little one is enjoying her first day at school.’ Seamus glanced in the rearvision mirror.

  Hugh didn’t answer. He appeared lost in his thoughts. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’ he apologised after a moment.

  ‘Miss Alice-Miranda – I said, I wonder how she’s enjoying her first day,’ the driver repeated.

  Hugh managed a tight grin. ‘If I know my daughter, she’s probably running the place by now.’

  ‘She knows her own mind that one,’ Seamus replied.

  ‘Yes, you’re right there,’ Hugh replied.

  The limousine pulled up in East 76th Street opposite Hugh’s destination.

  ‘Isn’t that her there?’ The driver was studying a group of schoolgirls exiting a building just in front of the vehicle. A tall man with a goatee beard led the children to the traffic lights on the corner.

  Seamus O’Leary opened the driver’s door.

  ‘Wait,’ Hugh urged. ‘I’d rather not distract her. In fact, I’d prefer that we keep this excursion between ourselves.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Seamus watched as Alice-Miranda skipped across the road surrounded by a gaggle of girls, all laughing and talking as they went. ‘Would you like me to wait for you, sir?’

  ‘No, I’ll make my own way back,’ Hugh advised. He opened the rear door and hopped out.

  Hugh checked the traffic and scurried across the street to the side entrance of The Carlyle. There in the foyer, Hector was waiting for him. The two men shook hands vigorously and Hugh suggested they sit in the Bemelmans Bar, where the booths were private.

  ‘So what have you found that has brought you all the way to the US?’ Hugh scanned the old man’s face looking for clues.

  ‘Well, after we spoke, I took a trip back to the village to see if the charity shop had received anything from the estate. I don’t think the old woman running the place thought much of me at all, but there was a naive young thing working alongside her who answered my questions. Lo and behold, she found an ancient tin trunk out the back with the initials MAB. I offered to buy it on the spot without even a glimpse inside as I couldn’t risk opening the thing in front of her, and besides it was padlocked. She wasn’t keen to let me have it without knowing the contents and it took some convincing, but I managed to persuade her to sell it to me as is – for a price.’

  ‘And what did you find?’ Hugh leaned in closer.

  ‘I took the trunk home and mangled the lock off and I found –’ Hector snapped open the locks on his briefcase beside him – ‘this.’ He handed Hugh a thick book.
<
br />   Hugh ran his fingers along the plain brown cover. There was nothing on the outside to hint at its contents but as he opened the first page, the same swirly script from the letter identified its owner.

  This diary belongs to Martha Annerley Bedford, Pelham Park, Dunleavy.

  The address was crossed out and underneath was written:

  Nutkin Cottage, Tidmarsh Lane.

  Hugh looked up. ‘And?’

  ‘And I think you will find its contents compelling to say the least, sir. But I’m afraid the old girl wrote in rather a cryptic fashion and there are still many unanswered questions. There was this too.’ Hector handed Hugh a much smaller book.

  ‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.’ Hugh took the delicate volume. ‘My brother made this for me. I loved it.’

  ‘It’s lovely artwork, sir. He had quite a talent,’ Hector said admiringly.

  ‘I used to have Nanny read it to me every night. I adored all those fanciful drawings of dragons and knights. There were other things hidden in the illustrations too. See?’ Hugh pointed. ‘There’s a turtle in there. She must have had it all those years.’ Hugh turned his attention back to the diary. ‘Does she mention the “truth” that she talked about in the letter to my father?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘Well, sir, I believe that has something to do with your brother Xavier,’ Hector advised. ‘But we’ll need to do some more digging – literally.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hugh stared at his companion.

  ‘We need to check the crypt at Pelham Park,’ Hector replied.

  Hugh was aghast. ‘The crypt! What on earth does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘It will tell us for certain,’ said Hector, ‘that your brother isn’t dead.’

  Hugh Kennington-Jones decided to walk the ten blocks back to Highton’s via Central Park. He needed time to think. The diary was wrapped in a shopping bag and Hugh was eager to decipher its contents for himself. Amid the mothers’ groups and their parades of prams, tourists with their cameras and folks taking a break from the chaos of the city, Hugh spotted an empty bench in the middle of a patch of lawn.