Something from Tiffany’s Read online

  It was a question he kept asking himself for a very long time, the light from the digital clock on the nightstand reflecting off the side of his face in the darkness. Even after popping an extra Vicodin an hour ago, he just couldn’t quieten his mind long enough to nod off.

  Over and over again he replayed the scenarios in his head: shopping for the bracelet . . . seeing the shop assistant wrap up and place the bracelet in the bag . . . going outside to hail a taxi . . . waking up in the hospital . . . then tonight, Rachel beaming at him as he placed this colossal diamond ring on her finger.

  Eventually, he drifted off but in his dreams he was back in Tiffany’s, arguing with the blonde over how much his credit card had been dinged for. Was there some kind of girly conspiracy thing going on, or something?

  Then, minutes later, he was once again wide awake, the images from his dream still clear in his head. Tiptoeing out of the room he slunk off into the sitting area and fired up his laptop to check his credit-card statement.

  Gary took a deep breath. There it was in digital black and white; he had indeed only been charged a hundred and fifty dollars or so for the charm bracelet.

  Well, OK then.

  Granted, he hadn’t planned on getting married, but there was no denying that he’d done well out of this particular deal.

  And now, through no fault or effort of his own, he was an engaged man. Gary’s stomach tightened. The timing wasn’t the best, that was for sure; not when there were a few . . . loose ends in play. He’d be under pressure now to tie them up – and quickly.

  He supposed he’d have to introduce her to his mother soon too. That could be tricky. Hopefully his ma would keep her mouth shut. Well, he’d have a word in her ear beforehand to make sure she let nothing untoward slip about the . . . other situation.

  He sat back on the sofa, thinking about Rachel.

  Did he want to marry her? He could do worse for a wife, he reasoned, thinking of some of the girls he’d been involved with over the years. She was great fun, easy-going for the most part, and while she could be a bit overemotional at times, all women were a bit like that, weren’t they?

  No, if he thought about it properly, Rachel was a great catch: she had her own business, was scorching between the sheets and, most importantly, wasn’t constantly in his ear about the time he spent off with the boys on the bikes.

  Anyway, it was only engaged. A ring didn’t necessarily mean they had to get married in the morning, did it? Rachel certainly seemed happy enough with just a ring on her finger, and if she was happy maybe he should be too. One thing was for sure: he might as well make the most of being in the good books for as long as possible. Because if she ever found out about the other thing . . .

  Gary scratched his jaw. All considered, maybe he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Powering off the laptop, Gary shrugged.

  Like the man said, sometimes you just had to roll with the punches and take the hand life dealt you.

  Chapter 12

  Ethan felt Vanessa’s gloved hand in his and decided that it was good to be back in London. Daisy was today catching up with her grandparents, and he was looking forward to spending some time alone with Vanessa.

  His parents had been so supportive and helpful since Jane’s death, Ethan mused. Having been married themselves for almost fifty years, they had become more than just a stable bedrock for him. They were a touchstone, a sort of third-eye perspective for his own life. He was well aware of that, and it was something that had comforted and cushioned him over the last few years.

  But since he and Vanessa had dropped Daisy off at their house yesterday, something had been different.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew that the feeling didn’t really have anything to do with his parents per se, but he couldn’t shake the annoyance he felt at his mother’s doting, lingering tendencies. His parents’ black Lab, Bailey, had barrelled in from outside as they were saying goodbye to Daisy, and as the dog shook off the dampness – a long, controlled, full-body, rhythmic motion – Ethan felt almost envious.

  He wished he could just shake things off like that too, get a grip on what was bothering him, and then play happily or lounge by the fireplace without a care in the world.

  Whatever it was, it was reminiscent of a feeling he had had while shopping on Christmas Eve, only this time he wasn’t invigorated and feeling one step ahead of things. The opposite.

  Now, unaware of his own pace until he heard the snow crunching beneath his feet in shorter intervals, he tugged on Vanessa’s hand and told her that the quicker they walked the sooner they would be stopping for lunch.

  ‘But, Ethan, I’m not that cold. I’m actually enjoying the walk. It’s such a lovely day; let’s make the most of it.’

  He forced a sigh and watched his breath turn to vapour before his eyes. She was right, he thought. Since coming home, he had been too wrapped up in his own head, too fixated on nothing but losing that ring. He needed to relax.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. Just getting back into things after the break has made me a bit stressed, I think.’ He squeezed her hand and shot her a smile. ‘Yes, let’s enjoy it. In fact, let’s give that place over there a shot for lunch today. What do you think?’

  ‘The Snug?’ Vanessa said, stopping in her tracks. ‘Why on earth would you want to go to an Irish pub?’

  Despite her heritage, he didn’t think he and Vanessa had ever been in an Irish pub in London together. She tended to avoid them in favour of more traditional English establishments; he guessed that to her they weren’t remotely like home and actually rather kitsch and fake. Still, he’d always liked this particular one.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I just feel like trying somewhere different for a change.’

  ‘Really? On the plane you were saying how much you were looking forward to getting back into our routine. You even mentioned our café.’

  By ‘our’ café Ethan knew she meant the one they often went to for lunch at weekends. ‘Right, and I am – we are. But why not bring some new flavour into the routine? I haven’t been to the Snug in ages. Besides, the gastro-pub food got four out of five stars in The Times recently, and we might even see a politician or two,’ he added, offering a little background colour that he figured might appeal to her.

  She laughed, looking incredulous. ‘You researched this place?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say I did any full-blown research, but I just came across a review – only yesterday actually,’ he said, muddling his way through an explanation. ‘Don’t be fooled by the outside; I know it seems a bit shabby but the menu really does look impressive.’ The look on Vanessa’s face wasn’t communicating much, and Ethan wasn’t sure if she was impressed with his enterprising thinking, or suspicious of it.

  ‘You’ve just never struck me as the Irish-pub type,’ she finally said.

  The observation set him off kilter. Just what type did she consider him? In fact, what type did he consider himself? As they stood there on the path across from the pub, the cold breeze suddenly became a wind.

  ‘OK then, I must admit I’m slightly intrigued,’ she conceded. ‘As long as you don’t ask me to guzzle back Guinness and start singing rebel songs, I suppose we could try it.’ She smiled and brushed the snow out of her fair hair.

  Ethan threw his head back, catching snowflakes on his tongue. ‘Great. You’ll love it.’

  ‘You seem pretty sure of yourself.’

  Did he? He realised that this was something she had never said to him before. In truth, he quite liked the sound of it as, since Jane’s death, he hadn’t thought it was possible to be sure of anything. He grabbed her hand and led her across the street and into the Snug.

  Seated inside the dining section at a table topped with white linen, Vanessa voiced her approval. ‘Well, I have to admit it’s not exactly what I expected. No neon shamrocks in sight. Actually, it’s rather nice.’

  ‘Good.’ Ethan smiled, feeling almost as if he’d won a battle
of wills of sorts. ‘Seems I was right, then.’

  Lunch passed pleasantly. Vanessa enjoyed brown bread and home-made potato and leek soup while Ethan devoured a platter of fresh oysters. Halfway through, he decided that a Guinness would complement the meal perfectly and since the glass was only halfway empty by the time his plate was clean, he then decided he needed something else to finish things off. Apple crumble with custard did the job nicely.

  ‘Good God, Ethan. Did you bring this appetite back with you from New York?’ Vanessa laughed. ‘Because if you did, I suggest you return it quickly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat like this before.’

  He chuckled. ‘I know. Pretty good, eh?’ But the mention of what he might have brought back from New York merely reminded him of what he hadn’t, namely the ring.

  He grew quiet for a while and Vanessa said nothing. It was as if the mention of New York had brought into focus the bubble of unspoken questions hanging between them. They hadn’t talked all that much about the trip since their return, and although Vanessa had insisted she’d enjoyed it, he knew that she sensed, however vaguely, that something had shifted in their relationship while there. He could only imagine how his seemingly out-of-the-blue distraction and evasiveness since Christmas Day had come across to her.

  She’d asked how the meeting with the ‘literary agent’ had gone, and Ethan had been deliberately ambiguous, telling her that it wasn’t really a meeting at all, more of a brief chat over coffee until the agent was called away on an emergency.

  ‘So what did she say about the proposal you sent? Will she be offering representation?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She needs to read a writing sample before she decides.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get cracking on that then, hadn’t you?’ she’d teased, and Ethan had tried to divert her from the topic by presenting her with yet another gift: a little silver apple charm for her bracelet.

  He’d picked it up in Tiffany’s on the way back from meeting Rachel Conti at the hospital, and had hoped it would act as a peace offering of sorts, and a memento of their time in the city together.

  Or more likely, Ethan had admitted to himself, a weak attempt to salve his own conscience for lying to her.

  Now, two days back in London, he was still no further down the line to retrieving his engagement ring, and wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Since his return, he’d called Rachel’s number again under the guise of enquiring about Gary Knowles, but only got voicemail, upon which he’d left his own contact details.

  There was a side of him that hoped the situation would automatically be resolved once the man recovered from his injuries and subsequently examined his bags, becoming aware himself of the mix-up. Then, with luck, he and Rachel would put two and two together and Ethan’d have the ring back in no time. At least, that’s how he hoped things would play out, because for the moment he didn’t have any better ideas. He knew something would have to be done, certainly; there was no way he could leave the situation up in the air. But until he made contact with Gary Knowles, there was little else he could do.

  ‘Shall we?’ he asked, reaching for the bill.

  ‘Absolutely. It’s nearly time for you to pick up Daisy, and I need to go home tonight as I haven’t quite unpacked yet. But I can still take her to her ballet class tomorrow afternoon, if you like. And then dinner?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said, leaning to one side to take his wallet out of his back pocket.

  Later that evening, Ethan came in from the balcony of the two-storey town house he shared with Daisy in Richmond.

  He sat in the leather chair adjacent to the dancing flames in the fireplace and, with his elbows on his knees, leaned forward and bit softly on the thumbnail of his left hand.

  He stopped and smiled at the unbidden memory that arose on doing so.

  Jane had always loved secretly watching him bite on that nail while he was lost in thought. She said the way his hair fell part of the way across his right eye made him look sexy. She loved his blue eyes anyway, but found them most irresistible ‘when they’re reflecting mysterious thoughts’. What she loved even more, though, were his hands. She used to say they were strong and masculine, yet sensitive and artistic. She loved the way they held a coffee cup and the way they held her, and especially the way they looked on her bare skin.

  Hearing Daisy stir in the other room, Ethan shook off the memory and sighed as he sat back, the leather chair exhaling beneath his weight. He loved the earthy scent of that leather. It made that particular chair his favourite place to sit in the entire house. Rubbing a hand over his torso, he smiled as he thought about the lunch he had devoured earlier, and before he knew it his mind began replaying eating chocolate-chip cookies that day he and Daisy had met Rachel.

  He wondered where she was now, the woman with his ring. Was she still in New York, tending to her injured boyfriend, or back in Ireland? The day after tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, and she’d mentioned she ran some kind of restaurant so surely she would have to return to that at some stage during the festivities?

  Ethan checked his watch. It was late, but not that late if she was still in New York. Should he try her number again, and this time just come out and explain everything once and for all? Then again, he couldn’t imagine upsetting her in such a way, particularly with all the strain she was under. She’d seemed like an especially lovely person: kind, warm, with such an infectious laugh.

  Immediately he shook the feeling off. It was almost Daisy’s bedtime so really there wasn’t enough time for telephone calls and explanations. He stood up and went to look in on his daughter.

  ‘Almost ready for bed?’ he asked Daisy, standing outside her bedroom doorway. If there was one thing he had learned about raising an eight-year-old girl, it was to never enter without announcing himself or asking permission.

  ‘Come in, Dad. Just drawing,’ she said, sitting on the bed in her nightgown.

  ‘What are you drawing?’ he asked.

  ‘Just my favourite memories from our trip,’ she answered without looking up.

  There, scattered around her, was page after page of scenes from their time in New York. ‘I want to show them to my friends when I go back to school next week.’

  Ethan sat carefully on the edge of the bed so as not to disturb his little artist at work. He surveyed the pictures of the moments that were apparently special to her. There was one of her sitting on the plane next to him, another of the Statue of Liberty, one of the two of them walking down what he suspected was Fifth Avenue, their view of Central Park from the hotel, and the Christmas lights on Park Avenue. Then, oddly, one of him tending to Knowles after the accident.

  ‘You picked this as a good memory?’ he asked, holding up the picture.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, Dad, because everyone says you and I were heroes that day.’

  Ethan smiled weakly. ‘I suppose we were.’ Then he spotted another picture, this one of three people at a table eating chocolate-chip cookies and smiling. At first he thought it was a representation of the two of them and Vanessa, but it quickly struck him that the hair colour was wrong.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What?’ Daisy asked, looking up. ‘Don’t you like them?’

  ‘They’re beautiful. So is Vanessa in any?’

  ‘Yes, here,’ she said, pointing to a picture of three people sitting around a Christmas tree. Sure enough, there was Vanessa, but sort of tucked halfway behind Ethan.

  ‘Ah, yes. I see her now,’ he said. It wasn’t lost on him that Rachel’s depiction was beaming and smiling, drawn from the front and centred in the picture, whereas Vanessa’s sort of blended into the background. ‘Did you have a good time, poppet?’

  ‘Yes, very much.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘You already asked me that so many times, Dad.’

  ‘I know. I suppose it just didn’t turn out exactly as we expected, did it? I still have to get the ring back and ask Vanessa to marry me. Are you still OK with that? You know, do you
still think that’s a good idea?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. I don’t think she had a very good time in New York, though, but I suppose that could change.’

  Ethan grimaced. He’d half-hoped that Vanessa’s distant behaviour had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination, but it seemed not. ‘It was a bit topsy-turvy, our trip, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Daisy paused and looked at him. ‘Dad, did you have a good time? I mean, if you drew a picture of your favourite memory, what would it be?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Ethan was stumped. For a moment he honestly couldn’t think. Then he chuckled. ‘I suppose it would have to be the one of me force-feeding you M&Ms on our last night. Here, give me a piece of paper and one of those crayons!’

  Daisy giggled with delight. Then, when Ethan was done with his own rendition of their chocolate feast, she raced into the kitchen to place it prominently on the fridge door along with the rest of her drawings, where Ethan had every intention of letting them stay until the edges were yellowed and cracked.

  Chapter 13

  ‘I’m telling you, I don’t know how it happened,’ Gary said, crouching down as he tightened the last bolt on a new fuel line he was installing on his motorbike.

  He was glad to be back home, a wrench in his hand and a beer on the concrete garage floor. It had been a long flight across the Atlantic with his sore ribs, but at least not as long as the bloody hospital stay. He shrugged and looked at his best mate, Sean. ‘Sometimes, when you realise the cards you’re dealt, you’ve just got to bluff and keep your poker face on.’

  ‘Well, you could have knocked me under a bus when you told me you were getting hitched, but with the way things panned out I suppose you couldn’t do much about it,’ Sean guffawed. ‘Anyway, you could do worse than Rachel, you know. You’ll never go hungry and you get to have those curves in your bed every night.’ He grinned and raised his beer can to his mouth. ‘Guess one of us had to take the plunge soon enough. Hate to admit it, you bastard, but you’re looking at a win-win.’