dinner on a whim without having to check schedules …’
‘Going to the cinema by yourself and eating all the popcorn – I love that.’
‘Or reading the Sunday paper all day without interruption.’
‘Only going shopping when you feel like it – and never having to feel guilty about dragging someone else along.’
‘Long baths on a weeknight listening to Lou Reed …’
‘Watching five episodes of a box-set in one go …’
‘Setting out from your apartment on a Saturday morning and wandering wherever you want to.’
‘I love that! I haven’t done that for years.’
‘Me either. Know what, Bea?’
‘What?’
‘We should start again.’
Bea smiled, despite the blush she knew was now spreading across her cheeks. ‘We should.’
‘Because we live in the best city on earth,’ Jake said. ‘Why wouldn’t we want to explore it?’
‘Exactly. I love this city.’ Bea turned to the stunning night view from the tall window. ‘Look at that: isn’t it the most amazing view?’
‘It is. There’s a big city out there, just waiting for us.’
‘And we’ve wasted too much time being trapped by someone else already.’
Jake nodded, an unmistakable fondness in his expression. Bea recognised it instantly because it was how she felt. ‘Gotta love this city.’
‘Absolutely.’ Her earlier consternation forgotten, Bea looked back at her surprise ally. ‘I’m really glad I met you this evening.’
‘Me too. It’s refreshing to find someone else who understands where I’m coming from.’
Jake offered the bottle to Bea, but she declined, enjoying the conversation far too much to be distracted by any more alcohol.
Snapping his fingers, Jake grinned at her. ‘Hey, you and I should make a pact.’
‘What kind of pact?’
An impish twinkle danced in his eyes. ‘That we will never get involved with anyone, ever again.’
A few days ago, this suggestion would have horrified Bea. But after all she had experienced tonight – and the enjoyable conversation she was having with the barman – Bea was keen to agree. ‘Absolutely. I’m done with relationships.’
‘OK, here it is: we solemnly swear that no matter what, we will avoid relationships. That we are through trying to find true love. From now on, it’s about us, celebrating the parts of our lives that work and not obsessing over those that don’t. We will be successful, happy, self-fulfilled individuals, who don’t place responsibility on anyone else for our happiness. Nobody writes the book of our lives but us.’
Bea loved that idea. So often in her life she had felt at the mercy of unseen scriptwriters who blindly dictated the ebb and flow of her happiness. The only author of Bea James’ life story should be herself. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘Then are you willing to agree to The Pact?’
She grinned at the audacity of it. ‘Yes, I am.’
He held out his little finger. ‘Then we must solemnly seal it. With a pinky shake.’
‘A what?’
He couldn’t hide his amusement. ‘Trust me. This is the only way.’
Giggling, Bea locked her little finger with his. ‘I hereby agree to The Pact.’
‘No more relationships for Jake and Bea.’
‘No more relationships for us.’
It was a beautiful moment: an unexpected gift of understanding between two people who barely knew each other. It felt deeper than the light-hearted banter of strangers and significant in a way that surprised them both. It was the end of a struggle and the beginning of a new chapter in their lives. And, with her finger locked with Jake’s, Bea suddenly didn’t feel alone any more …
Much later that evening, watching the lights of the city passing by the taxi window, Bea was lost in her thoughts. Celia and Stewart had waved her off, reasoning that her quietness was due to fatigue and maybe a little too much wine. Bea barely said two words as the cab pulled away, waving absent-mindedly as she tried to work out how she was feeling.
She should have felt elated by the twist the evening’s events had taken. She should have felt justified in her new decision to live life for herself. But beneath the glow of an evening unexpectedly well spent, a gaping hollowness refused to be filled by any of the above. Why did she feel like she’d missed something?
Should she have asked for his number? It would have been nice to have a friend in New York who didn’t have an ulterior motive for pairing her up with someone.
But then, Bea told herself, maybe Jake was being polite. He was serving at the bar at a private party, for goodness’ sake; it was his job to entertain the guests. She didn’t doubt that he had enjoyed talking to her, but what if that came from a longing to make his work shift pass more quickly? It was entirely possible. And why did it matter, anyway?
Of course it doesn’t matter, she told herself. It was a bad night made better by a barman with a crazy pact. One of Manhattan’s unexpected surprises. And it was over now.
Vacant office suite, McKevitt Buildings, Broadway
‘I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s a great property,’ the real estate agent nodded encouragingly at Jake. ‘Competitive rates, excellent square-footage, close proximity to the better business areas of the city and the scope for a wide catchment area for your practice.’
‘Great …’ Jake replied, but he wasn’t really listening. He was still smiling from the conversation he’d enjoyed last night. This pact idea had legs: and finding the right premises for his business was the perfect place to start.
‘But please, don’t take my word for it,’ the over-eager agent rushed, ‘let me show you around and I assure you the property will speak for itself.’
Jake followed the agent around the empty office space, barely noticing the freshly painted walls and brand new carpet at his feet. It was light and airy, in the right location and with more than enough scope for his practice to expand in time – but he had made all of these observations within minutes of arriving and now his brain could focus on other things. As the agent eulogised the benefits of the building, Jake’s thoughts returned again to last night.
Why didn’t I ask for her number?
He had seen her wave goodbye as a man he presumed was her brother hurried her out of the apartment, so at least he knew she hadn’t fled the moment she’d had the chance. But in the cold light of day, was her participation in their conversation little more than classic British politeness? She was alone at the party and so was he: she was also a little worse for wear from champagne and wine and he had drunk more bourbon than he’d intended. Was it simply a case of shared experience to get through an otherwise excruciatingly embarrassing event?
‘Dr Steinmann?’
Jake stared dumbly at the real estate agent. ‘What?’
‘I said, staff. Will you be having any?’
‘Yes. I’ll start recruiting as soon as I secure premises.’ The thought of finding an assistant even half as competent as the