‘I’ll come with you.’ Penny wasn’t sure whether or not she was joking.
‘They don’t allow women on merchant ships.’
‘Can’t stand the competition of superior minds?’ It was Kate’s standard reply to every misogynist statement.
Penny closed her eyes and the next thing she knew they were in the middle of Manhattan.
Horns were blaring, people shouting, and the boys were offloading the bags. Reluctant to move, she was the last to leave the bus. She reached the pavement to be accosted by a tall familiar young man who looked amazingly, almost shockingly healthy, clean and alert.
‘Hello, Penny. I’m so glad you managed to break out from your cell.’
She stared at him, not because she didn’t recognise him but because she couldn’t understand what he was doing meeting her coach.
‘We talked on the bus in London from Grosvenor Square to Bow Street police station. I was the one in handcuffs with a bruise on the side of my head. Remember?’
‘Of course I remember, Bobby.’
‘Gee, you remembered my name. That’s neat.’
‘That’s what?’ The Welsh Valley expression ‘tidy and neat’ or ‘neat and tidy’ sprang to mind but it didn’t seem to fit.
‘I forgot you British were so literal. “Neat” is good. I’ll give you a lesson in Americanisms.’
A middle-aged man and woman were watching them.
‘Directors in charge of orientation,’ Bobby whispered. Raising his voice, he said, ‘Welcome to America, Miss John. Here’s your orientation schedule,’ he handed her a sheaf of papers, ‘plan of hotel, complimentary map of New York.’ He dumped a file on top of the papers. ‘And your room key.’ He slipped an outsize keyring beneath her fingers. ‘You’re in a triple. Room 409 with Miss Katherine Burgess and Miss Anne Holland.’
She pushed the key into her jeans pocket. ‘Do you work for the hotel?’
‘I’m just one of the many students helping out with orientation, Miss John. I’m delivering the opening lecture at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He lowered his voice again. ‘How would you like to see something of New York after you’ve cleaned up?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Meet you in the hotel’s coffee shop in an hour?’
‘Thanks, Bobby, but the only thing I want to see at the moment is bed.’
‘You’ll have all the time in the universe to sleep when you’re dead.’ He took her arm and steered her into the hotel foyer. ‘Besides, I want to hear how you escaped the clutches of the British police. And,’ he raised his eyebrows, ‘you haven’t heard how I broke out of my cell. It’s a fascinating story.’
‘It’ll have to wait. I really am exhausted,’ she insisted.
‘Central Park is lovely at this time of year.’
‘There’s no way I could walk a step further than I have to in order to reach my bed.’
‘Then you’re in obvious need of food and coffee. I’ll buy you both before escorting you along the shortest route to your room.’
‘I look a wreck. I need a shower …’
‘You look beautiful.’ Bobby approached Kate as she entered the hotel with her own and Penny’s bags. ‘Kate, isn’t it? We met in Grosvenor Square but there wasn’t much time for conversation. Here’s your orientation file, hotel papers and key to 409. You’re sharing with Penny and Miss Holland.’ He lifted another file and stack of papers from the box under his arm and handed it to Kate. ‘That’s Miss Holland’s pack. Would you give it to her, please? Penny will be along in half an hour, unless you’d like to join us for coffee?’
Kate winked suggestively. ‘I wouldn’t dream of intruding, Bobby.’
‘You remember my name too? This is my lucky day.’ Bobby steered her towards the coffee shop.
‘Pen?’ Kate called out from the lifts.
She turned. ‘Yes?’
‘Bobby’s a definite improvement on the last one. And remember, we’re in New York, not Ponty.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pontypridd, 1987
Penny had pasted postcards of the hotel into the album. She remembered the building as a nondescript skyscraper like so many others in New York. One of the postcards was of the interior of a room. She gazed at the brown and orange decor – so dated, two decades later – and tried to recall if the room she’d shared with Kate and Anne had been similar.
She couldn’t visualise it but she didn’t need the postcard of the coffee shop to jog her memory. She closed her eyes and jetted back to that June afternoon.
The hotel had aimed for economy version gentlemen’s club, with mock-leather brown vinyl chairs, fake-wood-grained Formica tables and heavy glass ashtrays. Three walls were covered with woven brown hessian, the fourth gold. All were studded with gold-framed silhouettes of eighteenth-century ladies and gentlemen.
New York, 1968
‘Two cappuccinos, two ham sandwiches and two blueberry muffins.’ Bobby called their order to the waitress while escorting Penny to a corner table set behind the door. Only two other couples were in the coffee shop. After the bustle of the plane, airport and bus she found the quiet blissful.
‘I can’t wait to show you America.’ Bobby’s enthusiasm was palpable. ‘As soon as we’ve eaten we’ll go to Central Park. The first thing you have to see is the Burnett Memorial Fountain in the Conservatory Garden. There’s a statue there of a young girl and boy, characters from her Secret Garden. The sculpture’s stunning. So stunning I considered studying art when I was younger, until my professor pointed out I have absolutely no talent. You?’
‘I don’t know yet if I have talent. But I’m attempting to study art.’
‘I knew it. With auburn hair and tawny eyes, you couldn’t be anything but an artist. And there’s so much for an artist to see in the park. So many sculptures and beautiful gardens. From the Burnett memorial we’ll go to the Alice in Wonderland statue of the Mad Hatter’s tea party. It’s fabulous, less than ten years old, but it gets a good polishing from the kids who climb on it every day …’
‘The park authority allows children to climb on a statue?’
‘It’s meant to be used as a climbing frame. A beautiful bronze climbing frame that was given to the city for kids to play on. They swarm all over it. I wish the guy who commissioned it thought of it ten years earlier so I could have had fun when I was growing up. People would have looked sideways at a teenage boy climbing on it with four- and five-year-olds.’
‘You grew up in New York?’
‘I lived here before I went to school.’
‘You must know the city inside out.’
‘Not that well. I wasn’t allowed out on my own until I was ten, and I was sent away to a boarding school in New Hampshire when I was seven.’
‘But you must have come back for the holidays?’
‘Weekends occasionally, either side of summer and winter camps.’
The waitress brought a tray to their tables, and set glasses of iced water, coffee and plates in front of them.
‘Thank you.’ Bobby pushed two of the plates in front of her. ‘Eat and we’ll go to Central Park.’
‘I meant what I said about not being able to walk a step further than I need to reach the door of my room. What’s this?’ She looked down at her plate.
‘English, American and Italian comfort food. The Italian is the cappuccino, the American the sandwich and the muffin English. I figured you’d need all three. One of your party said it took you over twelve hours to fly here.’
‘Over twenty-four if you add the bus journey from the college and waiting at the airport.’ She picked up one of the cupcakes and pulled the top from it. ‘A currant bun?’
‘An English muffin. I thought you might like a blueberry one, a taste of the old world and the new,’ he explained.
‘This doesn’t look like any muffin I’ve seen, not that I’ve ever eaten one.’
‘You’ve never eaten an English muffin?’
‘Possibly because I’m Welsh.’ She picked up
her coffee, smelt the sprinkling of chocolate on top and drank. ‘This is heavenly. Just what I need, caffeine.’
‘They make great coffee here. A couple of those and you should stay awake until bedtime. By then your body clock will have adjusted to stateside time and you won’t suffer from jet lag. Well, less than you would have if I’d allowed you to go straight to bed.’
‘Allowed me …?’
‘Admit it; you’re having a good time.’
‘I’d have a better one if you’d allowed me to shower and change before coming in here,’ she retorted.
‘There’s no point in rushing to your room, your friends will be using the tub. But you could use mine.’
‘What kind of a girl do you think I am?’
‘The kind that gets herself arrested.’ He smiled when she didn’t reply. ‘I was joking.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘You haven’t a boyfriend hovering around here, have you?’
‘No.’
‘You left him back in England?’
‘In Wales, with the new girl in his life.’ She wondered why she’d told him about Rich.
‘He must be mad to let you go.’
‘He didn’t think so.’
‘Why are we talking about him when he’s history and three thousand miles away?’ He leant close to her. ‘Let’s swap cell stories.’
Pontypridd, May 1987
Restless, Penny rose from the floor and walked to the picture window that overlooked the garden and the hills beyond littered with scatterings of grubby grey sheep and startlingly white lambs. Blind to the view that had inspired her to choose this corner of the barn for her bedroom she remained lost in memories.
Why were the young the only ones who discussed the important questions life presented – and always late at night? Was it because they were free from responsibility and could afford to sleep their days away? Or did the heady mixture of youth, new-found freedom, camaraderie and too much alcohol lead to a profundity that didn’t exist outside of their imaginations.
Andy’s arrival had been a watershed for her. Before, there’d been time for philosophy, fun and, occasionally, even boredom. Afterwards there hadn’t been enough hours in a day. She’d painted sample pictures to send to agencies in her efforts to forge a career as a jobbing artist, in between cooking, cleaning, washing nappies and feeding Andy. Before he’d begun nursery school there’d been times when she had been so tired by the evening, it had been as much as she could do to crawl into an armchair and watch television, or curl up in bed with a book, praying that Andy would sleep until morning.
Single motherhood had been tough. It would have helped during Andy’s early years if she’d had a husband to turn to, but she’d had her parents’ unstinting support, and when black moments descended, she’d tried to concentrate on the good memories of Bobby. Later … there’d been Jack.
Occasionally, during the small hours when sleep eluded her, she was beset by feelings of unease. Despite her parents’ and Andy’s teachers’ assurance that she’d made a competent job of bringing up her son, she’d felt guilty for working long hours. Physically she’d always been there for him. Mentally was something else. And Andy had always known when she hadn’t been listening to him when he’d visited her in her studio after school.
She was almost forty but she was no closer to answering the questions that had perplexed her at twenty. But what she did know was, from the very beginning of her relationship with Bobby, she could no more have stopped herself from falling in love with him than she could have stopped breathing.
New York,1968
Bobby sat back in his chair and said, ‘Do I know how to order, or do I know how to order? That was a great ham sandwich and blueberry muffin.’
‘Anyone would think you made them yourself,’ she countered.
‘If I had, they would have been even better. I can cook.’
‘Americans class making a ham sandwich as cooking?’ She crumbled the last of her enormous blueberry muffin between her fingers before admitting defeat and pushing her plate away.
‘Muffins are baked.’
‘You bake?’
‘If I did, I’d be a champion baker.’
‘Is that what you Americans call “bullshit”?’
‘“Bullshit”?’ he repeated indignantly. ‘And there’s me thinking I’d found myself a real British lady who wouldn’t know the word existed. But I suppose I have to make allowances for your condition.’ He watched her yawn.
‘I need a bath, a change of clothes and—’
‘Don’t say sleep,’ he warned. ‘If you do you’ll never adjust to East Coast time.’
‘Try telling that to my eyelids. They’re weighing heavier by the second.’
‘I noticed. They were closed the whole time I was telling you about Central Park.’
‘They were not,’ she protested.
‘What was the last thing I said?’
She looked mutely at him and he laughed.
‘I’ll carry your bag. Give me your key.’
She handed him her room key and followed him to the lift. He hit the button for the tenth floor. She leant against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment … the next thing she knew he was helping her out into a corridor.
‘Lean there. I’ll get your bag.’
‘I’m fine.’
Bobby didn’t argue. He picked up her bag from the doorway of the elevator, where he’d left it to prop the door open.
‘The hotel must have put us the furthest possible point from the lift,’ she grumbled when they walked down what appeared to be an endless corridor.
‘So would you if you owned the place. The organisers of the orientation course block-book at preferential rates. Discounts never get the best rooms.’
‘I thought you were reading medieval history not economics.’
‘Who told you I was reading medieval history?’
She recalled the police cell. The memory still had the power to make her shiver. If she told Bobby about Rose, he’d realise she’d been discussing him with his friends and she didn’t want him to know how interested she was in him. Not until she could be sure how interested he was in her. ‘I’m psychic.’
‘And I’m Mickey Mouse. You’ve been asking people about me?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
The sound of hammering and shouting emanated from her room. Bobby handed her back the key and she tried to unlock the door only to find it open.
The room was tiny. There was barely space to walk between the single and double beds. Kate, dressed in clean jeans, T-shirt, her hair soaking wet, was hammering on the bathroom door.
‘Problems?’ Bobby asked.
‘Anne must have gone to sleep in the bath. I’ve tried shouting …’
‘We heard,’ Penny said dryly.
‘I tried shouldering the door, but I’m not strong enough to spring it. Don’t suppose you’d like to give it a go?’ Kate asked Bobby.
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ Bobby refused. ‘Hotels overcharge guests for damage. And I doubt the lady would be amused if I broke in on her when she wasn’t dressed.’
‘Any suggestions?’ Kate asked.
‘If you don’t want to use the bathroom, leave her. She’ll wake up when the water gets cold,’ he advised.
‘Which hopefully won’t be too long,’ Penny chipped in. ‘I’m desperate for a bath or shower and change of clothes.’
‘I grabbed first bath because I want to join Joe and the others on their tour of New York. Anne didn’t want to come. You coming?’ Kate picked up her shoes and slipped them on.
‘I need to get out of these clothes.’
‘If you’re that desperate, use the bathroom in my room,’ Bobby offered.
‘Quick work, Bobby.’ Kate raised her eyebrows.
‘How do you know my name? I don’t remember introducing myself in Grosvenor Square.’
‘You did to Penny and she hasn’t stopped talking about you since. In fact, whe
n her uncle eventually managed to get her out of Bow Street police station, it was as much as we could do to stop her from going back in to demand the police release you as well.’
‘Really? You wanted to help me?’ Bobby smiled.
‘You and the other girls in my cell,’ she qualified. ‘The police were foul to us.’
‘They weren’t kind to the boys either.’ He changed the subject. ‘My bathroom’s not luxurious but it’s fairly clean and has a shower head over the tub.’
‘And you in the bedroom to help Penny should she run into difficulties using the facilities?’ Kate rifled through the contents of her haggis.
‘I don’t have to be in my room when Penny uses the shower,’ Bobby protested. ‘I could go for a walk in Central Park.’
‘Brilliant, Bobby,’ Kate enthused. ‘You can show Joe, me and the others the sights. I’ll phone his room and let him know that you’ll be meeting us in reception in five minutes.’
‘Make it ten.’ Bobby picked up Penny’s bag. ‘That gives me time to show Penny to my room.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bobby’s room was on the first floor. Even smaller and dingier than the one allotted to Penny, Kate and Anne, it held two small double beds, a rickety veneer wardrobe and bedside table.
‘The bathroom.’ Bobby pushed his way between the beds, opened the door and switched on the light.
The tub was stained a greenish brown below the taps, the towels were thin and there was an empty basket devoid of complimentary toiletries. He saw her looking at the basket.
‘My apologies, but orientation staff get even worse rooms than the students.’
‘I thought it would be better as it was on the first floor.’
‘Unlike you Brits, our rich occupy the attics, which they’ve renamed penthouses to make them sound desirable. The lesser beings are housed below.’ He dropped her bag on one of the beds. ‘If you want to stretch out after your bath I haven’t slept in this one. My robe’s hanging on the back of the bathroom door; you’re welcome to use it. Help yourself to whatever you need from my toilet bag. Soap, toothpaste, bath salts,’ a mischievous smile curved his mouth, ‘razor … shaving cream.’
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