His touch sent waves of relief washing over me. I stopped and, for just a moment, allowed myself to lean into the halfembrace. ‘I’m good, Nate, really. It was just a shock to see him—after so long…I’m fine, honestly.’
Despite my reassurance, tears were threatening to reveal the truth in my eyes. And added to my tangle of emotions was a new battle: my need to leave now faced a challenge from an unfamiliar desire to remain with this reassuring dark gaze and soothing touch. As though sensing my struggle, Nate’s arm turned me slowly to face him and I found myself pulled close to his scented body. His right arm enfolded me closer yet: I could feel the pulse in his neck as it gently padded against my cheek. I closed my eyes and inhaled the fragrance of his skin. He spoke: his voice deep velvet, resonating through my body.
‘Rosie, what is it? Did I do the wrong thing? Have I hurt you?’ His questions came in short bursts, sending a hot breeze across my hair. I reached my hand to press against his back and the muscles were firm beneath my fingers. I was in danger of losing myself in the maelstrom of conflicting senses. It was time to leave.
‘No, Nate, you’ve done nothing wrong…it’s OK.’ I pulled away. ‘But I really do have to go. I’ll see you Thursday.’
Nate stood, motionless, his eyes fixed on me as the elevator doors shut him from my view. Finally alone, I slumped to the floor and sobbed as the lift began its descent.
‘Sooner or later the thing you fear most will come to find you.’
When Mr Kowalski said that to me one day, not long after I’d joined him at the store, I admit I disagreed strenuously. You can always escape your fears, I argued, especially your worst ones. It’s just a kind of game, surely? The more you understand when and where your fear will be hiding, the better you are able to choose a different route.
Mr K shook his head and I remember painful history colouring his eyes as he spoke. ‘Ukochana, the fear will hold your life in a trap—like the ones my mama used to snare rabbits. Unless you get rid of it, its grip on you will tighten as you struggle. You cannot “understand” the trap: it is real and it will kill you if you don’t get free quick. Papa sends the fear, Rosie, time and again, until you are ready to get free from it at last. Sooner or later you will have to fight it to the death if you are to live.’
His words unnerved me then. And now, as they appeared to be coming true, I longed to talk to him about it. I never told Mr K about the reason I had come to New York—yet now, when I needed to share it, he was no longer there to listen.
I stumbled from Gray & Connelle’s building in a numbed daze. My steps gathered speed. I knew I was heading in the wrong direction but I was unable to stop my feet from moving that way. I needed to get away, but where to? Not to Kowalski’s that was for certain. Not yet. Ed would want to help, but the thought of him demanding every detail of my ordeal was unbearable. To explain why I was in such a state would mean explaining everything to him, and I just wasn’t ready. But I couldn’t go home, either: I couldn’t face the thought of being alone with the raging cacophony of my emotions. I hurried on, fearing that David might be close behind, as my journey continued in its unspecific direction. Streets and sounds and smells became unfamiliar as I strayed further from what I knew. Eventually my salt-burned eyes recognised a Starbucks sign and I headed for it with relief.
The warmth of the coffee house, with its familiar smells and sounds, wrapped round my aching, trembling body like a comfort blanket. I ordered a macchiato and found a table as far away from the window as possible. It was half-hidden from view of the other customers by a large potted plant and I felt safe. My heart was still loud in my ears, its beat relentless, as I shut my eyes and tried to breathe deeply.
Images of David and Nate tore through my head, accompanied by alternate waves of revulsion and longing: an undulating waltz in the pit of my stomach. David Lithgow was here—in my city. How dare he be here, now? The look on his face had been pure, undiluted triumph at finding me again…I shook my head as the realisation hit me: I’d accepted the commission and condemned myself to months of undesired, unpleasant contact with the One Thing I Feared. I made myself take a large mouthful of hot coffee, which stabbed my throat in its fast descent. The heat dulled the effect of my nausea and my thoughts swung to Nate. And the way he’d held me. That embrace remained etched on my mind and sent a flood of tingling right through me. The scent of his body, the rapid beating of his pulse, his strong safe arms cradling me…Emotions I had packed away so carefully years before now lay scattered around me and I was unable to shelve them again. What was I feeling?
The sharp trill of my cell phone broke into my distress.
‘Rosie? Where are you?’
A torrent of relief hit me and I sobbed back down the phone. ‘Oh, Celia…’
‘Hell, Rosie, I’ve been so worried. Nate’s worried too. He called me and told me about the meeting.’
Another sob sufficed as my answer.
‘Sweetie—is it David?’
‘Yes…’ I moaned.
‘And he’s getting married?’
The pain was too much. I needed my friend. Celia swore loudly, then regained her control and spoke with gentle firmness. ‘OK, Rosie, this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna get in a cab and come here—now—and we’re gonna make this all good for you, OK?’
I had already gathered my things and was heading for the street. ‘I’m on my way.’
Chapter Fifteen
Honesty. It’s a strange animal: good or bad depending on whether you’re on the receiving or giving end. Why is it that people find the thing so easy to demand and yet so hard to practise? All my life, I have tried to be honest with people.
Not long after I first met her, Celia diagnosed this as part of my problem. ‘You wear you heart like a Prada bag, Rosie, so everyone can see it. Sometimes it pays to be just a tad elusive.’
So I took it on board, becoming entirely elusive about my heart. I decided that nobody would be able to come close to hurting me again if my heart wasn’t on show. And it worked successfully for me. Until now.
Because now the very person that held the key to my past had appeared in the one place I felt safest—in Nate’s company. He’d seen my reaction in there; I couldn’t avoid the process of telling him everything now. Deep down, I knew it: the time was coming when I would have to reveal all my secrets. And, though the thought sent a chord of fear chiming inside, I knew that sooner or later other friends would have to know too. Soon, I feared, the whole world would have to know. The pain of the revelations would only end once everyone knew the events of six and a half years ago: the reason why I ended up hiding in a flower shop in the best city in the world. Everyone would know—including Ed; how could I tell Ed? The thought of picking over the shards of my past with him, after so many years spent avoiding the question, sent a flood of panic from my head to my toes. But that was to come; what lay ahead right now was the distinct possibility that Nate would want to find out why seeing David had shaken me so much. Our friendship had become so important to me—no, he had become so important to me. Sitting in the taxicab I realised I was trapped—being pulled at speed towards the truth when all I wanted to do was run from it.
Talking about my heart had become something I feared—almost more than anything else. Because honesty meant risk; and risk meant losing people. And talking about my past…it meant admitting defeat again. Talking about pain that I had so purposefully hidden meant me having to feel it all over again—feel him all over again. Six and a half years ago I vowed never to feel that way ever again. About anybody. And it had worked, in a fashion. I had rebuilt my life and started to dare to believe I was happy. I could even ignore that feeling of solitary emptiness you get when you close your front door at the end of the day and find there’s only ever you at home. Yes, I was lonely; but I was safe because I was in control. Control was, admittedly, a poor substitute for true happiness, but it was something I understood and felt comfortable with.
Right now, I wasn’t
in control and it was terrifying.
Celia met me outside her office building on 8th Avenue and walked me briskly inside the glass lobby. As we got into the elevator she gripped my hand.
‘OK…now I need to tell you before we get up to my office, because I don’t want you to get upset: Nate’s here.’
Somehow, I knew he would be. My worst fears confirmed, I spun round and walked purposefully back out into the atrium. Celia scuttled after me, eventually halting my escape by grabbing my shoulders and bodily blocking the way. Cornered, I scrabbled for excuses, desperate to take flight.
‘Celia, let me go! You don’t understand. I need to go home… I don’t feel well.’ It all fell on stony ground.
‘No, Rosie. I won’t let you. You’re not running away. Not this time.’
Anger was building steadily in my gut. ‘I’ll do what I damn well want. Let me go!’
My shout echoed around the walls and a few passers-by turned to look at me. Celia’s voice was calm and patient yet unswerving in its resolve. ‘No, Rosie.’
Something in her tone extinguished the fire within me. I blinked back stinging tears. ‘Why?’
Celia released her grip. Face to face with my best friend I saw tears of compassion fill her eyes. ‘Why? Because you deserve to live, Rosie, not be beaten by this—this thing anymore. Because there are good people—like Ed and Nate—who ought to know what a rough deal you’ve had in order to appreciate how strong and victorious you truly are. Don’t look at me that way. I know what you’ve been through, remember? I’ve seen the struggle in you more than anyone. But, honey, you’ve succeeded where most people would have self-destructed. Sure, maybe you did run away; I mean no one knows what you’ve coped with alone. But, my darling, you’re stronger than you feel! And you know it’s time now: time to be honest, time to fight your past—to fight David—and prove to yourself that you can win. You know I’m right.’
I did. Despite every fibre of my being screaming otherwise, I knew it was time to face my biggest fear. Like Mr K said: this was my time to ‘get free, quick’. I felt weak.
‘I’ll need your help.’
‘And I’ll be right here for you, honey, all the way.’
Holding tightly onto Celia’s arm, I took a deep breath and began to walk forward. The elevator door closed. And my journey began.
Like I said, I got a job at an advertising agency in London after graduating from university. Q. J. Johnson Associates was a relatively new but highly successful company and I joined them during their boom years. Fuelled by the passion of young, aspiring designers, the company quickly transitioned from an artsy design house to a trend-setting major-league player. It was an energising, exciting place to work and I loved it from the day I arrived.
I had worked there for just over eighteen months when we landed the biggest contract in the company’s history: a huge multinational company commissioned us for a transatlantic campaign.
One breezy day in early April, about a month into the job, QJ, my boss called me to ask a favour.
‘Rosie, we’ve got some Yank designers coming to co-work with your team on this job. Damned nuisance, I know, but the client insisted we field a transatlantic team, so there’s nothing I can do. Their flight arrives at Heathrow this afternoon and my car’s out of action. Would you be able to do it?’
Although I was in the middle of what appeared to be the busiest day of my life, I agreed. I decided the drive would do me good and, secretly, I wanted to chat to the new designers first so as to retain artistic integrity on the project I now regarded as mine. Plus, it was the nearest thing to an afternoon off I’d had in months.
The traffic out of London was awful but weak spring sunshine gave London that magical quality you always expect to find, but never quite do. Resigned to a long journey, I decided to enjoy it. So I cranked up the volume on the radio and sang along all the way to Terminal Four.
Once inside the terminal building. I joined the line of chauffeurs holding up ragged paper notices, over-excited long-lost friends and family members waiting at International Arrivals. Attempting to hold my pristine laminated sign with suitable nonchalance, I stood patiently as several flights-worth of passengers paraded past. Finally, after forty-five minutes of waiting, David Lithgow strolled into my life.
I remember thinking I’d never seen anyone with really grey eyes before. They were pure grey—the colour of Lake District dry-stone walls. It will seem like an old cliché but it’s honestly true: from that moment I knew my life had changed irrevocably. In the days and weeks that followed I found myself working increasingly closely with him as the design work neared its completion. Friends commented on the chemistry between us—even QJ (a man renowned for many things but never his social perception). David and I often had lunch together and he would lean close towards me and look me straight in the eye when we spoke. It took my breath away every time. Although I didn’t know it then, he later admitted he’d bribed our colleagues to leave us alone as often as possible.
A week before final completion, QJ announced that the multinational client had agreed to fund a long weekend away for the whole team. This was to have a dual purpose—to reward us for our hard work and also to iron out last-minute design issues before completion. We would work from nine till twelve each day and then relax. An entire country house hotel in Snowdonia was duly booked and we drove up on a Thursday night in late May.
On the Saturday evening most of the team elected to go to the local pub in the village, but I decided against it. I settled myself in the cosy drawing room with a good book and prepared for a relaxing night in. I was glad of my decision when I heard the rain begin to fall outside. Within a few minutes the windows were being bombarded with a torrent of heavy rain and hail. I was just getting engrossed in my book when, to my surprise, David appeared.
‘I don’t feel like warm beer and loud music tonight,’ he said, flopping to the floor by the side of my chair and looking up at me. ‘I’d rather stay here, with you.’
His words sent quivers of delight right through me. Feeling brave, I reached out and gently traced the contour of his cheekbone with my fingers. Then, unexpectedly, the lights went out. A power cut had hit and we were plunged into pitch darkness. Being in the middle of the countryside meant no light pollution outside and the storm blocked out any light the moon could have offered. So the darkness was complete—an inky blackness.
Still reaching out, I was aware that I could no longer feel David’s face before me. My other senses raced to compensate for the lack of sight. The sweet, musky scent of his cologne grew stronger: I could hear him moving…then silence. For a brief moment I wasn’t sure if he had left the room or not. I called his name but there was no answer, so I determined he had gone. I sat forward, straining my eyes to decipher any hint of light. As I did so, I became suddenly aware of warm breath straight in front of my face. It made me jump and I laughed nervously. ‘I know you’re there! Stop playing games with me: I’m at a distinct disadvantage here.’
And then his face was touching mine: brow to brow, nose to nose, his breath now hot against my lips. His hands framed my face and he spoke in a hushed, deep tone. ‘I’m not playing games now, Rosie. I’m for real. Let me love you. Let me be a part of your life. I want you more than anything.’
His kiss was strong, intense and deep. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Electric energy rocketed through my entire body and I knew. I knew that one of my Important Life Decisions had its days numbered: I was falling in love.
The elevator doors opened three flights early to admit an older male journalist and his pretty, young female companion. Celia smiled politely as the door closed again. I looked at the floor as memories, newly released after a long prison sentence, ran through my mind. I had loved David so much. The warm memory of that first kiss took me by surprise as pain-gilded emotion assumed an iron grip on my heart. I knew I loved him then; now I began to fear that the love might still be there, buried carefully beneath layers
of hurt, but still very much alive. I shut my eyes.
Nobody seemed surprised that we were together. Some said they’d witnessed the signs from the moment we met. Others were delighted: they had successfully predicted how long it would take for us to pair up and were now each fifty pounds richer, thanks to an office sweepstake I was unaware of.
David revelled in their pleasure and went out of his way to proclaim his love for me as often as he could. Huge bouquets would arrive on my desk, screensavers bearing love poems would regularly appear on my Mac and one day I received a singing barbershop telegram (much to my embarrassment and my colleagues’ rapturous delight). Soon, I got wind of another sweepstake—this time predicting how soon it would be before David Lithgow popped the Big Question.
It wasn’t long. But it wasn’t at all how I’d expected it to be when it happened. It began with a job offer.
‘Darling, I just spoke to Dad. There’s an opening in the Boston design house for someone to head up a new initiative. They’re looking for someone who will find and develop young potential, someone with vision and passion. You’re the only candidate Dad’s willing to consider. We want it to be a family business. Come home to the States with me, Rosie.’
I laughed, confident now of his intentions. ‘If that’s meant to be a proposal, David Lithgow, you’re going to have to make it a great deal more romantic than that. I only ever expect to be asked this question once—so make it good!’
We were walking in Battersea Park on a warm Saturday afternoon and had just reached the Pagoda. David ran up the front steps and shouted loudly.
‘May I have your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen, children and—er—dogs.’
Passers-by stopped to gawp in bewilderment at the crazy American gesturing flamboyantly at them.
‘I have an important announcement. This young lady you see before you is the most wonderfully adorable, stunningly beautiful creature in the entire world—and I wish to inform you all that I cannot imagine waking up another day on this planet without her by my side. So…’ he paused, skipped down the steps and kneeled on one knee at my feet, ‘…so I’m asking her—I’m asking you, Rosie—to share the rest of my life with me—as my wife.’
Fairytale of New York Page 19