Summer in Sorrento Read online

  ‘Oh my goodness, Joshua, I’m so sorry. I know I was supposed to be in with you first thing, but my alarm didn’t go off and my phone was on vibrate and I am a complete idiot and I’m so sorry. I’m on my way right now.’

  ‘Darcy, thank God …’ came Joshua’s concerned voice down the other end of the line. ‘Are you OK? I’ve been calling for the past hour. I thought Ashley was supposed to be in, but then she told me she’d changed shifts with you and I was just about ready to start calling round the emergency rooms. Where are you? What are you doing?’ Clearly, Joshua had been too agitated to register any of Darcy’s excuses.

  She threw back the covers and shook her head, hoping she could calm down her workmate, who had a penchant for dramatics akin to the stage mothers on the TV show Toddlers and Tiaras. Incredibly histrionic, Darcy knew that he was probably wringing his hands and on the verge of tears at that very moment. Small wonder his earlier career as a trainee paramedic hadn’t worked out.

  Growing up in a family of surgeons, it seemed inevitable that Joshua would follow in his older siblings’ footsteps and pursue a career in medicine, but ultimately he proved too much of a delicate soul to handle the inevitable daily chaos of such a profession. Much to his relief Darcy knew, Joshua’s parents had grudgingly accepted his decision to cut short his training and pursue instead his passion for literature. Which was how he’d ended up working in Chaucer’s, in a job which (most of the time) was considerably less tumultuous than the ER, while taking a Masters in Drama – something that suited him all too well.

  Strange though, how she and her colleague’s career paths had taken such similar routes – suggesting that you could (and should) never fight your own destiny.

  ‘Joshua, I’m fine, you can call off the search party. I forgot to set my alarm last night, that’s all. And I’m sorry I scared you.’ Darcy hurried across the room towards the tiny adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower while trying to pull her pyjama top over her head with one arm. ‘I’m just jumping in the shower now. I’ll be with you in no time.’

  ‘For all I knew you could have been hit by a car on your way to work and were laid up at Mount Sinai, unconscious, on life support. I mean, don’t you understand how much you scare me – especially on that bike?’

  Darcy couldn’t help but giggle. ‘And don’t you understand how much you sound like a worry-wart mother?’

  Joshua voice was gentle. ‘Someone has to look out for you, you know,’ he said and Darcy was touched by his concern.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll be there as fast as I can, OK?’

  ‘And take a damn cab!’ Joshua pleaded. ‘Don’t even think of trying to make your way all the way up here on the bike. It’s a mess out there this morning with all that snow. The city put salt down but the roads are still a horror show, and everywhere people are losing their damn minds. Honestly, it’s like something out of The Dead Zone.’

  ‘Joshua, I’ll be fine. My bike has seen worse, believe me. I’ll be there in no time.’

  ‘Well don’t pedal too hard!’ he added in parting.

  Having showered and dressed, Darcy clattered downstairs. On the way, she met one of her neighbours Mrs Henley, a cantankerous type who lived in the apartment across the hallway. Darcy smiled as she passed the older woman who was on the way up. ‘Morning, looks like it’s going to be a cold one today!’ she called out by way of greeting.

  ‘It’s the middle of December; what else would it be?’ the woman grumbled, her face typically pinched as she continued upwards towards her own apartment.

  Darcy shook her head. ‘Well, good morning to you too …’

  But it was her own fault for bothering. In the three years she’d lived in this building Mrs Henley had barely acknowledged her salutations, or any attempt at neighbourly friendship. She understood that many people including herself embraced solitude and were perfectly happy in their own company but still the rejection stung. Despite being a city of millions, it could be a lonely place at times.

  Throwing open the front door of her building, she was immediately assaulted by the change in temperature. So Joshua had in fact been right about the weather, she thought, immediately training in on the fact that her hair was still damp from the shower, and would be in danger of freezing under her helmet in such a temperature.

  Well, she didn’t have time to go back in and blow-dry it and if she ended up catching pneumonia, it will have been for the greater good of Chaucer’s bookstore. Darcy carefully watched her footing as she unlocked her bike from the decorative rail sectioning off the front of Luigi’s restaurant to the entrance of her building, and mentally thanked her landlord for having the wherewithal to have salted the steps the night before.

  As she positioned her bike on the path, she began to swing a leg over when, caught unawares by the icy terrain, she slipped and landed squarely on her backside on the hard cold ground.

  ‘Damn…’ Darcy cursed as the bike landed clumsily on top of her. Pulling herself to her feet, she steadied the bike while holding on to the rail, deciding that she’d have to be more careful, and not go out and prove the prediction that so many seemed to believe in that she was putting herself in serious danger on this thing.

  Taking a deep breath this time, she mounted without issue and with the wheels eventually finding traction, she pedalled off in the direction of uptown.

  Allow the panicky adrenaline rush she’d been experiencing since she woke to subside, Darcy felt her pulse gradually stabilise as she pumped her legs, gliding through the streets with ease. Taking a cleansing breath, she pushed her frantic start out of her mind and concentrated on the streets, soon realising that traffic was nowhere near as bad as Joshua claimed, and that, at this hour, the worst of the morning rush had dwindled in any case. She smiled and shook her head fondly; her workmate could really be a fussbudget sometimes.

  Soon, Darcy felt her awareness shift and she slipped into autopilot, something that happened routinely when riding. She felt her body push forward almost of on its own accord, and her legs move automatically, so familiar with this route – right and straight up on Sixth Avenue towards Central Park - that she could probably do it in her sleep.

  Her mind started to drift to the list of items to be accomplished at the bookstore that day, things she had to catch up on.

  She should probably start with that special order from Mrs Hansen, she thought, remembering an email from one of the store’s regulars the day before. And then get those Christmas orders out, or maybe Joshua had done that already? And she needed to ready her yearly festive favours - special Chaucer’s colour-themed candy canes to give out with purchases - which always helped spread some cheer amongst customers’ stressful last-minute shopping expeditions.

  If she could get all of that done before the weekend, Chaucer’s would be in great shape in time for the last minute Christmas rush next week, she decided, admiring the gigantic Christmas tree baubles atop the fountain between Forty-Ninth and Fiftieth Street, before she sped past the famous LOVE sculpture further along on the corner of Fifty Fifth.

  Then once the holidays were over, she would think again about putting in place her long-held idea to offer customised literary walking tours of the city.

  Over the last while she’d spent a lot of time investigating potential routes and assorted interesting literary-related nooks and crannies throughout the city. Such as a former speakeasy in Greenwich frequented by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the destroyed shirtwaist factory near Washington Square Park - the tragedy of which featured in several modern literary works - as well as the various Greek Revival houses made famous by Henry James, which were home to eighteenth-century New York high society and where Edith Wharton had once lived. Not to mention the plethora of cafés, theatres and watering holes oft-frequented by many a great American Novelist.

  She’d come up with the idea ages ago through conversations with customers and tourists who’d shown a keen interest in the city’s literary heritage but had yet to get round to making it a rea
lity. For Darcy, offering to show people around the city’s bookish nooks and crannies she knew like the back of her hand was something of a natural progression, yet still she found it hard to find the courage to just do it, and not for the first time wished she possessed some of Katherine’s entrepreneurial spirit

  Darcy’s ultimate dream though was to maybe open up her own bookstore someday - and try and recreate the kind of bookshop that was once ubiquitous to New York city but over the years had been lost.

  Somewhere with quirky panache, but a certain tattiness too; a lived-in, homely quality with separate areas for new as well as old books, and unusual genres. Quiet little corners to get lost in, making browsers helplessly lose their bearings in a way any great bookshop should. She longed to be able to present the books themselves in ways that made them as irresistible as jewellery or chocolates, as well as provide space for public readings, book groups and launches, plus a cafe that perhaps at night turned into a wine bar.

  It might be idealistic but weren’t all the best dreams?

  The traffic signals had mostly been in Darcy’s favour along the way as she rode along the city streets, but now reaching the top of Sixth Avenue and approaching the busy intersection at West Fifty Ninth Street, Darcy refocused on the lights. She slowed her pedalling, preparing to stop for an upcoming red at the crosswalk, but then seeing it turn green, sped up again slightly.

  Too late, she became aware of a large- dog walking out from behind the tall FedEx van about to move off just in front of her. She pumped hard on the brakes, but realised very quickly that she wouldn’t make it, as her bike wobbled perilously beneath her.

  ‘Hey, watch out!’ came the shout, which Darcy barely recognised as coming from her own lips.

  Swerving, she squeezed again on the brakes and jerked back the handlebars, and for a split second felt relief at managing to avoid impact with the dog.

  Just before ploughing directly into the pedestrian at the end of its leash.

  End of excerpt.

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