Page 37 of Winter With You

‘I swear it on Mom’s fake Cartier.’

‘OK,’ Steffi said, sounding satisfied as she pushed the door to re-enter the restaurant.

Luca looked at the screen of his phone. No missed calls. He had called Errol at least half a dozen times on the way over and it kept going to voicemail. OK, it wasn’t enough to warrant him being concerned enough to go over there but, something felt a little off. He called again and listened to the tone as he watched the bustle of the street. Voicemail cut in again.

This is Errol. I don’t want your call. Go do something else.

But, this time, Luca left a message.

‘Errol, it’s Luca. Listen, man, I need to talk to you. Can you call me back as soon as you pick up this message? OK, bye.’

He pocketed his phone and looked back to the trattoria. There was nothing else for it, it was time to face his fate here.

24

NEW YORK OPEN-TOP BUS TOUR

With bright lights and glaring billboards, streams of people on the sidewalk and lines of traffic down every street, New York came to life at night and now, as Christmas approached, there was the sound of festive music in the air along with the scent of steaming hotdogs and car exhausts.

It had been a quick escape from the hotel room after Gabriella and Phoebe had got back from Zeeta Friedmann. The talk show had been a success. Gabriella felt she had been lively and entertaining, she had listened and engaged with the other guests on the sofa alongside her and she had dropped the name of the book into conversation the requisite three times like she was calling Beetlejuice. And all this despite being persistently jabbed by something in her side. She had checked her wound in the suite, redressed it, then changed into jeans and a jumper. Back in the janitor’s cupboard with Luca she hadn’t had the chance to really process what had happened, but at the hotel, looking at the cut that, thankfully, wasn’t deep enough to warrant stitches, she had questions. What exactly had cut into her? Was it something in the fabric? Part of the construction of the outfit? And, if not, how had it got there? With no answers yet she had rapidly refocussed. So, having left Cheyenne making dinner reservations she and Phoebe were never going to turn up at, here they were, twenty minutes into an open-top bus tour of the city. It was freezing. They were almost the only ones in the outside section, but it was all so spectacular.

‘Look over there! Pink lights!’ Gabriella said, pointing with a gloved hand at some of the bright bulbs of Broadway. ‘And almost a life-size moving billboard of Post Malone.’

‘Shh,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’m trying to listen to the guide.’

‘She’s very good,’ Gabriella admitted. ‘Any second now I’m thinking she’ll give us the gruesome intel on murders gone by.’

‘Eww,’ Phoebe said, recoiling a little in her position next to Gabriella. ‘I’m enjoying the non-grisly history.’

‘Most of history is grisly.’

‘No, that’s just the parts you remember,’ Phoebe stated.

‘Great Fire of London, grisly. Guy Fawkes, grisly. Battle of Hastings, 1066, grisly. And that’s basically all I got taught.’

‘No, that’s all you remember. Mum told me all about the Suffragettes.’

‘One of them ran in front of horses racing. Grisly.’

‘She told me that they were strong women like her sister. Like you,’ Phoebe stated.

Gabriella swallowed. ‘Well, we also know your mum loved stories with happy, uplifting endings and characters you can root for.’ She took a sip through the straw of the large McDonald’s Coke she was holding.’ I don’t think I’m anywhere near as strong as any of those women who fought for the right to vote.’

‘Mum always said you were the strongest woman she knew.’

‘Well,’ Gabriella said. ‘Your mum had a small close circle of friends and Grandmama so, very little competition.’

‘She also said you can never take a compliment and she’s right about that. But,’ Phoebe said, biting into her cheeseburger. ‘I’m going to say it anyway. I thought you were amazing on the show.’

Gabriella went to say she hadn’t been amazing but instead she put her mouth around the straw again and paused for a minute. Despite being nervous, despite something digging into her side the second she had sat down on the famous sofa, despite wearing something so out of her comfort zone fashion wise she’d felt like she was Vivienne Westwood’s new guinea pig, the interview had thankfully been another day at the office. She’d kept her cool, she’d kept emotion out of it and she had stroked her hand over the green-coloured cover like it was something she would cuddle up in bed with.

She took the straw out of her mouth as the bus picked up a little pace and the guide began to talk about the Bank of America tower that was coming up. ‘Thank you.’

‘And you looked like a model in the dress,’ Phoebe continued.

‘Pah! I’m not accepting that compliment. Victoria’s Secret will not be calling any time soon.’

‘No, I’m serious,’ Phoebe said, a slice of gherkin between her fingers. ‘You looked like a super-hot business woman who might also ninja kick you if you spoke out against her beliefs.’