I didn’t see Phoebe or George—something I was glad of. I would see them later, of course, at the evening reception to which all my team had been cordially invited, but at least then I would have supportive people round me. As Ed and I walked back to the hotel once more, the guests were beginning to arrive, the street filling up with cars.
Ed’s hand brushed lightly against mine. ‘Was it like this…?’
‘At my wedding? No—nowhere near as epic as this. I wouldn’t have had peacocks, that’s for certain.’
‘No kidding,’ he smiled. ‘Does it feel weird, seeing it all happening again?’
I thought for a moment. ‘No, actually. Not at all.’ I was telling the truth. It felt right. Seven years ago, I thought that my wedding held the key to my future happiness, and spent all the succeeding years thinking I’d lost it for ever; now, conversely, another wedding was where I found it at last.
Later that evening, I stood with my team in the large drawing room of the house, watching with pleasure as they celebrated another successful Kowalski’s design.
Marnie—a vision in a yellow satin prom dress with jade green sash and matching shoes—gave me a hug.
‘Well, boss, that’s the wedding of the year over, huh?’
‘Yes, thank goodness!’
She lowered her voice. ‘And you’re OK with it all?’
I patted her arm. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Good. It makes you think, though, doesn’t it?’ She let out a long sigh and looked around her at the wedding guests.
‘What does?’
‘I mean, who’s going to be crazy enough to want to marry me?’
‘Plenty of people, mate, I’m sure.’
Marnie wasn’t convinced. ‘Name one.’
‘That waiter from Ellen’s.’
From the way she screwed up her face, I could tell her opinion of that suggestion. ‘I told you before, he’s too needy. I mean it, Rosie. Name one person—who I haven’t dated already—who would want me to be his wife.’
‘Zac,’ Ed interjected.
Marnie’s cheeks turned the merest shade pinker. ‘Zac who?’
‘The Fit Guy from Patrick’s.’
She laughed but her eyes remained on Ed and me. ‘He wouldn’t be interested in me.’
Ed groaned. ‘For the love of all things sacred, Marnie, can you not tell when somebody likes you?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Every time that poor guy comes into the store you pretend like you can’t see him,’ he continued. ‘Yet he still follows you around like a sick puppy and pines for you when you aren’t there. You know you like him.’
‘I do, but he…but I…’ She folded her arms and stared at Ed. ‘Are you telling me that all this time I’ve been calling him “Zac the Fit Guy” and thinking he doesn’t like me, he’s felt the same way?’
He turned to me with a helpless shrug. ‘She’s a genius, Rosie, who knew?’
‘I need alcohol.’ Shaking her head incredulously, Marnie headed in the direction of the bar.
Ed nudged me and pointed over at the door, where Nate was standing. He appeared to be looking for someone. I raised my hand and he approached us.
‘Hey guys, what can I say? This place looks astounding!’
‘Why, thank you, sir,’ Ed grinned, leaning over and whispering something to Nate, who nodded. ‘Hey, Jocelyn, Jack—let’s go get some food.’
As they left, Nate slipped an arm round my shoulders. ‘So, how are you?’
‘I’m good. You?’
‘Avoiding my fiancée. And her mother.’
‘They’re here?’
‘Uh-huh. But, look, I want to talk to you, OK?’
‘Of course.’
He looked around him. ‘Not here. Take a walk with me.’
I followed him through the guest-filled rooms, past the orchestra and out to the front lawns, where the tiny lights hidden within the garlands lining the footpath gave the whole area a magical glow. We stepped carefully across the damp lawn and round to the rear of the house, following a small, marble gravel pathway to a darkened summerhouse. Nate stopped and thrust his hands in his pockets.
‘Rosie, there’s something I need to talk to you about.’
I crossed my arms protectively. ‘Nate, I’m not sure we should be—’
‘It’s about the flowers,’ he blurted out.
My nerves began to tingle. ‘What flowers?’
‘On Christmas Day.’
‘Oh?’
‘You see, I—’
‘Nathaniel? Are you out there?’ Mimi’s voice cut sharply through the evening air.
Nate uttered a profanity under his breath. ‘I’ll be there in a minute, Mimi.’
‘We need you now.’
He shook his head and gripped my arm. ‘Look, I have to go. I’ll arrange something, OK?’
‘What do you mean?’
He had already started moving away. ‘A time to talk. I’ll be in touch, soon.’
‘But—’
‘Soon, I promise.’
Alone in the dusky garden, my head was awhir with questions, unresolved emotion and weariness from a severe lack of sleep.
‘Rosie? What are you doing out here?’ Ed appeared in the doorway of the orangery. ‘We’re going back now—you coming?’
I shivered and began to pick my way towards the house.
‘First David, now Nate: every time I turn my back you’re off with another guy,’ he quipped as I reached him. ‘I’ll try not to be offended.’
I slipped an arm through his and smiled up at him, pushing my questions to the back of my mind. ‘Ah yes, but you’re the one I’m going home with tonight.’
Ed rolled his eyes as we walked back into the house. ‘Together with Marnie, Jack and Jocelyn, I know.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A week after David’s wedding, I met up early with my team to receive the delivery from Patrick’s. As we carried the boxes into the store, I couldn’t help noticing the shy smiles and playful banter being shared by Marnie and Zac.
Ed caught my eye as we passed each other going in and out of the shop. ‘Hey, have you noticed…?’ He nodded in the direction of Marnie and Zac, arms laden with boxes.
‘Hmm, I know. Bit of a turn up for the books, isn’t it?’
‘A what?’
I pulled a face at him. ‘Ah, excuse me. I forgot you don’t speak English. I mean it’s a bit of a change for her. With Zac the Fit Guy?’
The penny dropped. ‘Oh, I see. Absolutely.’
‘Seems like your brotherly advice at David’s wedding may have been heeded, after all.’
‘Go figure. And there was I thinking nobody else appreciated my wisdom,’ he winked.
When all the boxes were inside and Zac’s delivery chit was signed, he and Marnie wandered back outside to his van. The sky had been leaden grey overhead all morning and now it began to rain, lashes of water pelting down the shop windows and splashing onto the grey sidewalk. When it rains like this in New York it somehow makes every colour brighter and shinier: the yellow cabs and red brake lights of the traffic reflect in the glassy sidewalks and roads that have been transformed by the rain into strips of charcoal-grey that look like polished granite. Everywhere you look in the city you can imagine a film scene being set—and now, as if by magic, Marnie and Zac became the stars of their very own silent movie, right outside Kowalski’s windows.
Ed and I had been goofing around as usual, but now our laughter subsided and a strange silence descended over the shop’s interior as we watched the scene unfolding outside.
Zac had removed his jacket and given it to Marnie, who stood holding it over her head like an awning. By now the rain was falling at full pelt, soaking through Zac’s shirt and flattening his usually spiky blonde hair against his face—yet to look at the expression he wore, you would think he was basking in the brightest, warmest summer sunshine. Arms folded across his body, he gazed at Marnie as if his every dream were embodied in her: at
once surprised, delighted and elated by their conversation. As they laughed and joked, we noticed them moving closer—almost imperceptibly at first, their body language switching between brave and shy in equal measures.
For Ed and I, watching the very beginning of a relationship was a strange experience indeed. Not altogether unpleasant, I sensed both of us caught by its uncertain charms: joy at seeing Marnie’s obvious delight, wistfulness at the startling simplicity of the event, maybe even some regret…As ever, Ed’s expression remained steady, but I was innately aware of a range of other emotions sparring away beneath his carefully constructed exterior. Was he thinking about his Specific Someone, I wondered. Was he drawing comparisons between Marnie and Zac’s conversation and those he was undoubtedly having with her, or making notes as he prepared to reveal his feelings? It was impossible to tell—and I was in no hurry to explore the possibilities further in my mind. As for me, well, I have to be honest: as happy as I was for one of the Kowalski’s family to be finding love, I couldn’t shake the boulder-heavy feeling that Marnie, like Ed, was moving on, becoming yet another newly paid-up member of the Getting On With My Life Club—a society whose exclusive membership I feared I would never join.
The scene on the corner of West 68th and Columbus continued in its silent splendour as all around them people hurried past, eyes blinded to the magnificent love scene right under their noses.
Finally, Zac reached into the van and produced a single, vivid orange gerbera, which he presented to Marnie. Then, he leant forward to plant a kiss on her forehead—and Ed and I both instinctively looked away, unwilling to intrude on this most tender of moments. When we looked back, the van was leaving as Marnie waved from the sidewalk. The little silver bell tinkled happily as she walked back into the store, twirling the flower—the very bloom that she most resembles—in her fingers with a faraway smile. She passed Ed and me without a word and disappeared into the workroom.
Ed shook his head, a sly smile easing across his features. ‘Wow. Our little Marnie is all grown up and dating Zac the Fit Guy.’
‘I know,’ I smiled, ‘I feel quite emotional.’
I was only half-joking. Would I ever feel that again?
I turned to say something to Ed, but he had disappeared, leaving me alone in my empty shop, a million questions buzzing around my head.
Later that day, Celia dashed in on her way to the office. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were still coming to my dinner Thursday night, sweetie.’
‘I’m not sure, hon. We’re still recovering from the wedding and I don’t know how busy we’re going to get here.’
My best friend folded her linen-jacketed arms and surveyed me sternly. ‘Rosie Duncan, I need you at this dinner! I have people coming that are—uh—that could be important.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Nothing. I’ll explain later.’ Was it my imagination, or was the great New York Times columnist—famed for her wit and vivacity—struggling for words all of a sudden?
‘You’re blushing!’
‘I am not. There have just been—uh—developments recently that may—or may not—portend well for the future.’
I feigned shock, revelling in my friend’s uncharacteristic coyness. ‘Celia Reighton, are you talking about a man?’
‘Well, I would hardly be talking about a woman, would I?’
‘Who is he?’
‘I can’t go into this now, Rosie. I’ve a million and one places to be this morning and I’m already late. So are you coming Thursday or not?’
‘Not unless I get a name,’ I grinned.
‘Rosie…’
‘Celia. You know it makes sense. And you know I won’t give in.’
‘OK, OK. Stewart Mitchell.’
‘The guy from the Thanksgiving Dinner last year?’
Celia looked at her watch impatiently. ‘Yes.’
‘The one who sent you flowers?’
‘From your store—yes, I know, Rosie, so don’t do that shocked schlock with me, OK? He confessed everything last week so we’re—well, I’m just seeing what happens. The dinner is our first—you know—official couple event.’
I grinned. ‘Well, I think it’s positively lovely.’
‘So you’re coming now you’ve thoroughly embarrassed me?’
‘Of course. What time?’
Celia was already heading for the door, finally reprieved from my teasing. ‘Seven thirty. And bring something for the table—anything you like. Just not lilies.’
Marnie appeared at my side as Celia left. ‘Did I hear right? Has she got a man?’
‘You heard right,’ I smiled.
Marnie clapped her hands. ‘Ooh, this is so exciting! It seems like everyone in New York is falling in love this week. Celia, me, Ed…’
My head snapped to attention. ‘Ed?’
Marnie giggled. ‘Yes, Ed. His Specific Someone, I mean. I’m not totally wrapped up in my own life not to notice, you know.’
My heart sank to my toes as I picked up the order book. ‘Of course. Ed’s Specific Someone.’
The little bell above the door chimed happily as a young couple entered. They were the happiest two people I’d seen in a long time—even Marnie and Zac paled into insignificance beside them—giggling and so completely engrossed in each other that they appeared to be oblivious to everything else.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Marnie, stepping from behind the counter to meet them.
‘Roses,’ laughed the girl, never once taking her eyes from his. ‘We need roses.’
‘O-K,’ Marnie smiled, shooting me a rolled-eyed look. ‘So how many would you like?’
‘Armfuls,’ breathed the girl.
‘Bucketfuls,’ giggled the man.
‘And what colour were you thinking?’
For a moment, the spell between them was broken as both turned to look at Marnie. It was clear they hadn’t considered this. ‘What would you recommend?’ the girl asked.
‘Well—what’s the occasion?’
The man slipped an arm protectively around the girl’s waist. ‘We’re getting married.’
‘Congratulations! When’s the Big Day?’
‘Today. In about three hours to be precise—at City Hall,’ the girl answered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her fiancé’s forehead.
‘Whoa—that’s amazing!’ Marnie squeaked, completely forgetting her professional demeanour—much to the delight of the young couple, who both began talking animatedly at once.
‘We met last month…’
‘Last month, would you believe it?’
‘…and I just knew, you know?’
‘We both totally knew…’
‘…so we just said, “What the heck!”…’
‘What the heck—let’s just get married!’
‘So—here we are!’
Verbal confetti thus expelled, the couple stood there in the middle of the floor, his’n’hers grins proudly displayed for all to see.
‘OK,’ said Marnie, gathering herself together. ‘Let’s think this through. What are you wearing for the ceremony?’
‘Cream jacket and shift dress,’ the girl replied.
‘Dark blue suit,’ said the man, ‘with a cream silk tie that my grandma gave me.’
‘She’s the only one who knows,’ confided the girl, suddenly self-conscious.
‘Wait—none of your family know you’re getting married today?’
The girl shook her head.
‘They don’t get it—any of them,’ explained the man. ‘Only Grandma Evie. For years she’s been saying to me, “When you gonna get married, Jimmy? I’ll be dead soon and I want to see my grandson married before I go.”’ The girl smiled at Jimmy. ‘So when I met Anya, I just knew right away that she was the one. Grandma Evie would be there if she could, but she’s too frail. So she gave me this tie and her blessing.’
‘And your parents don’t approve?’ ventured Marnie.
‘They don’t care,’ Anya answered, her yo
ung face betraying the pain the situation must hold for them.
Jimmy patted her hand. ‘Both our parents are busy people with busy lives,’ he said. ‘Like everyone in this city—and then some. They have little time to worry about their kids.’ He shrugged. ‘It happens. My folks are lawyers, Anya’s are professors at Columbia University. They’re successful and highly respected in their chosen fields.’
‘And you don’t think they’d want to know that you’re getting married?’
‘My parents never married,’ Anya replied, reaching out to gently stroke the petals of a sugar-pink rose nearby. ‘According to them, marriage is an “outdated institution perpetuated by conservative Neanderthals in a bid to suppress the masses.” Conformity to traditions like marriage only disappoints them.’
‘And my folks spend so much time dealing with the fall-out of broken marriages that they’ve forgotten to see the magic in it,’ Jimmy added, ‘even with each other.’
‘So you could call us traditional radicals, I guess. It’s up to us to prove them all wrong,’ Anya smiled—her eyes still tellingly sad. ‘Though they’re going to go crazy when they find out.’
Jimmy smiled. ‘So seeing as we’re unavoidably destined to disappoint our folks, we might as well do it in style.’
‘So what colour roses would you suggest?’ Anya asked.
Marnie turned to me, a sudden look of panic on her face. I smiled back encouragingly, but she shook her head. ‘Rosie, what do you think?’
Stepping from behind the counter, I took a long look at the couple. ‘Your wedding is a celebration,’ I began, selecting blooms from the flower buckets as I spoke, ‘of how much you love each other.’ I looked at Anya’s strawberry-blonde shoulderlength bob and Jimmy’s blue-black closely cropped hair.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Jimmy, watching me with curiosity.
‘And love comes in many colours,’ I continued, gathering more flowers whilst resisting the urge to giggle at the sound of myself—all I needed was a croaky Polish accent and a pair of ancient half-moon spectacles balanced on the end of my nose, and my transformation into Mr K would be complete. ‘So how about this?’
Fairytale of New York Page 32