Page 11 of Winter With You

Now Phoebe looked worried. ‘It isn’t, is it?’

‘Your aunt is drunk, Phoebe. Sadly.’

‘And sadly, there will never be a dog here. Too unpredictable. Too needy. Requiring care and attention that, in the end, probably only Milo would be able to provide. If he’s able to stick this place longer than five minutes. And, actually Phoebe, the only thing I am intoxicated by is the essence of upper-class bullshit radiating around this farcical soiree.’

‘Phoebe, go up to your room,’ Monica commanded.

‘Phoebe, don’t you move. We’re going home. I just need to order an Uber.’

‘You’re not calling one of those to this house. I’ll get one of Henry’s cars to⁠—’

‘All Henry’s cars are pretentious as fuck!’

‘Stop! Please. Stop.’

The three words were yelled desperately by Phoebe, layered with anguish and anxiety in equal measure. And when Gabriella looked at her niece, she had her hands over her ears. The visual pricked at her heart and a memory of her sister doing something very similar hit her hard. This had to end.

‘Phoebe,’ Gabriella said softly, placing her hands over Phoebe’s and drawing them gently away from the sides of her head. ‘It’s OK. If you want to stay the night here it’s fine.’

‘Of course it’s fine, darling. Whatever you want to do,’ Monica said quickly.

‘I want… to go… home,’ Phoebe said through trembling lips. ‘To… Bettersea.’

‘OK,’ Gabriella said. ‘Then that’s where we’re going.’ She got her phone from the bag on her shoulder and touched the app. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Mother. We will wait further down the street. Save you the distress of a poorer person’s vehicle.’ She put an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders, steering her, drawing her close, wanting to shield and protect.

‘Text me, Phoebe darling!’

And with her mother’s call echoing down the garden path Gabriella began to sober up very quickly.

8

LUCA MANNING’S APARTMENT, THE BRONX, NEW YORK

The sound of smashing glass woke Luca up and, raising his head from the dining table, where he had obviously fallen asleep, it took him a second to realise he was responsible for the noise. Damn. The glass he’d filled with brandy at 1 a.m. was now in pieces on the parquet flooring. He looked at his bare feet and nudged the table hard with his knee. Another crash and there went the skeins of fabric he’d been cutting into. What the hell had he been doing? What time was it? Shit. The brandy remnants were slithering towards the silk…

He grabbed the material and hugged it to his bathrobe-covered body like a life preserver. A shard of glass was only a few centimetres away from his big toe. He took a breath and a few steps backwards, depositing the silk on the couch. It was then he caught sight of the clock on the microwave. Six a.m. There was no chance of getting to bed at all. He ran a hand through his curls. At least the time spent pouring the brandy and poring over images on his MacBook hadn’t been wasted. Gabriella Felix, his new client, was now not a complete mystery to him…

Suddenly, there was a knock on his apartment door. This was unusual for a few reasons: firstly there was an entry buzzer fifteen floors below at the front entrance and secondly, at 6 a.m. it was too early for his neighbour, Carole, to call offering him leftover food from whatever Martha Stewart recipe she had cremated. There were only two other scenarios in his mind now. A hitman or an emergency. Neither good.

Avoiding the glass, he crept towards the door, and there, in a metal stand was the ‘umbrella’. It was about the only thing of his father’s he had taken when he’d left the family home. Picking it up, he looked through the spy hole at the exact moment there was another knock on the door. A wide, lined face with hanging jowls like a bulldog appeared too close and Luca recoiled. Ronnie.

‘Open the door, Luca, I know you’re in there.’

Luca stilled and slowed his breathing in reaction to the gruff timbre the other side of the door. He tightened his grip on the handle of the umbrella while his mind worked on decision-making.

‘Luca! You want me to wake up all your neighbours? I can do that!’

Hammering on the door ensued, accompanied by the shouting of curse words, and Luca was left with no choice. He unlocked the bolts, slid back the chain and opened the door to face his father’s closest friend.

‘Atta boy,’ Ronnie greeted, looking like he was about to use his considerable bulk to cross over the threshold should he not be invited.

Luca stood firm, blocking the entrance. ‘What are you doing here? How did you even get in the front door?’

Ronnie smiled. ‘Come on, Luca. I’m a professional. Unlike you with that umbrella.’ He laughed. ‘What you gonna do? Sing a little Gene Kelly to me?’ He shuffled a comedic tap dance, mocking. Then he patted Luca’s shoulder with a meaty hand and eased his frame past. On this occasion it was easier to give in before any of his neighbours arrived in the corridor. As Ronnie sauntered into the open-plan living space, Luca closed the door and put the umbrella back in its place.

‘So, what are you doing here?’ Luca repeated, tightening the belt on his robe. ‘It’s 6 a.m., you know that, right?’

‘And you know I’m a hardworking guy. Just like your babbo.’ Ronnie smiled. ‘I like what you’ve done with the place. The art is better. And I don’t doubt the coffee is great too.’