Sleepless in Manhattan Read online

  Beth’s flat-heeled boots clacked against the hardwood floor as she went through to the living room, flicking on lights. And even though it was dark outside and the apartment building was lit, she threw open the privacy drapes that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the western-facing side. As she did, she took in what was undoubtedly the biggest selling point of this apartment (and the reason for at least fifty per cent of the rental cost); the breathtaking view that welcomed her from the twenty-eighth floor.

  Lower Manhattan was awash in a sea of lights, and in the midst of all of it was the soaring spectacle of hope and optimism that was the Freedom Tower. Beth never tired of this almost celluloid view – the cityscape of Manhattan lying quite literally at her feet – and she lingered at the window for a moment, taking it all in.

  Brinkley waited patiently beside her until she snapped out of her reverie and headed towards the kitchen, planning to make a cup of camomile tea and take some aspirin before settling into bed for the night. As she placed a mug of water in the microwave, she noticed a piece of paper on the worktop with Danny’s familiar handwriting on it.

  ‘Hi, sorry I didn’t call. Hectic day, and just came home to grab some clothes. Going to pull an all-nighter at the office, so don’t wait up. Need to power through on this creative brief for the new campaign. Call you in the morning. D. xoxoxo’

  Beth sighed. Sometimes when the company’s new client campaigns were hot and heavy, Danny did stay overnight at the office, loading up on energy drinks and caffeine before sneaking in a couple of hours’ sleep on the couch in the waiting room. No doubt he would end up taking a quick shower in the morning in the gym attached to the company building on 34th Street.

  The microwave beeped and she carefully extracted the mug with her hot water. Slipping in a camomile teabag, she waited for it to steep, when a picture on the wall on the other side of the breakfast bar caught her attention. Beth gave the teabag a few more dunks before shuffling out of the kitchen, and heading directly to the picture. The photo, held in an antique-looking gilded frame that was in direct contrast to the contemporary feel of their apartment’s décor, had been taken in Venice, Italy, six years ago.

  In it, Beth and Danny had their arms wrapped around each other as they sat in a gondola off the Riva degli Schiavoni. Bright greenish-blue lagoon waters not altogether dissimilar to the colour of Danny’s eyes sparkled around them, and the island of San Giorgio Maggiore – which Monet famously portrayed at dusk – was behind them.

  Beth remembered exactly how she’d been feeling right at that moment. She recalled the way the sun had lit up the café-lined street in front as the gondolier snapped their picture. She could still see in her mind the magnificent edifices of St Mark’s Basilica and the Doge’s Palace, and taste the freshness of the raspberries in the Bellinis from Harry’s Bar on the Grand Canal.

  She looked closely at the picture, as if trying to recommit every detail to memory. Danny’s dark hair was a good deal longer than the shortened crop he sported now, his cheeks seemed fuller, and she noticed that his tanned and relaxed visage in the photo was a world apart from his current pale complexion. The outdoors really suited him, and Beth was struck by how the long hours at the office of late had clearly taken their toll not only on his demeanour but his appearance too. She was staring at the photo for so long that Brinkley finally placed one paw on her foot, his way of saying, ‘Hey, I’m here too, get a move on.’

  Her trance-like state broken, Beth took a tentative sip of her hot tea and looked down at the little pup, who regarded her expectantly. ‘That, little man, was long before your time. But it was an incredible trip. A romantic, once-in-a-lifetime trip, in fact,’ she said quietly, feeling a very strong and sudden longing to be back in that gondola right at that moment, with Danny’s arms around her. She closed her eyes and could almost smell the sea air rushing off the Adriatic, and couldn’t deny that her heart ached just a little. She loved Danny, and she knew that he loved her. But she wished for something else, too: the sweeping moments; huge show-stopping scenes. Those happened so rarely in their relationship these days, but it hadn’t always been the case.

  She scooped Brinkley up under one arm and headed to the bedroom. Within moments she was ready for bed, face scrubbed, aspirin taken, pyjama pants and comfy old T-shirt on. Brinkley made a home next to her beneath Danny’s pillow, soaking up the temporary luxury of not having to compete with them both for space.

  ‘Don’t get too used to that, buddy,’ Beth warned as she flipped on the TV, hoping she could find something that would lull her to sleep.

  Roman Holiday, one of her favourite movies, was on Turner Classic Movies. Beth sighed contentedly, fixing her gaze on Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck at the Spanish Steps. She remembered this being one of the first movies Bridie had introduced her to, and felt a brief pang that her grandmother was no longer here to partake in the enjoyment. That was one of the most wonderful things about the movies, Beth thought, sitting quietly in the darkness, the experience was even better shared.

  But then again she did have Brinkley.

  ‘Rome was part of that trip, too. Your daddy and I ate gelato right where they are standing.’ She pointed at the screen as the dog listened, tilting his head as if working to decipher her words. Beth smiled at Brinkley’s response, and a feeling of fresh melancholy washed over her as she recalled the details of that incredible trip.

  Venice, Italy – Six Years Earlier

  Beth emerged from Venice’s Santa Lucia train station into the bright sunlight of a September day. Stepping onto the Ponte della Costituzione, she was immediately struck by sensory overload.

  The city’s famous Grand Canal greeted her along with the bustle of activity that populated the famous tourist hub. On the other side of the canal, she spied the Palazzo Foscari-Contarini and Suore di Maria Bambina, and had a hard time prying her eyes away from the aqua-blue water that glittered like a sea of topaz gems.

  Danny put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’

  Beth turned to him and nodded. This was her first time in Italy and while Danny had been here years ago as a child, she had been excited for weeks at the prospect of sharing this romantic experience with him. They’d been going out a few months and she’d been taken aback (but thrilled) when one day he’d spontaneously suggested the trip. From there they were heading to Ireland for a couple of days so that Beth could introduce him to her parents in Galway. Things were moving fast but she’d known for a while that he was The One and she couldn’t wait for her parents to meet the handsome New Yorker who’d stolen her heart.

  Venice – indeed, Italy – had always seemed impossibly romantic to her, and she couldn’t quite believe that the beauty of the place itself far outshone its celluloid depiction.

  ‘It’s just . . . incredible . . .’ she gasped.

  Squeezing her once more, he dropped his arm from around her waist and caught her hand. ‘Come on. Let’s get a taxi.’

  Following his gaze, Beth noticed loading ramps in front of the train station, with great hulking water buses filled with people. She tried to make sense of the chaos at the dock as she followed Danny across the piazza and neared the water.

  ‘How do we buy tickets for the water bus? And how do we know where to go? Does it pull up in front of the hotel? Or is it like the subway?’

  Danny shook his head. ‘No, we aren’t taking the vaporetto. We’ll take a water taxi, it’s easier.’

  Only then did Beth notice that there was a taxi stand on the water and a queue of people in line behind it. Aside from the fact that these taxis were glossy, wood-panelled speedboats and not yellow cabs, it was much like a taxi stand back home in Manhattan.

  How glamorous . . .

  Suddenly, Beth pictured herself wearing a headscarf, large black oversized sunglasses on her face, laughing into the wind like Carole Lombard or Audrey Hepburn in some fantastic Golden Age Hollywood movie. In her mind, she saw Danny at her side, devilish
ly handsome in an Italian-cut suit and dark sunglasses, channelling Cary Grant or Clark Gable, handing her a glass of prosecco as he helped her into the boat. She felt like swooning right at that moment, just like in the movies. Danny would catch her as she fell (elegantly, of course) into his arms, and he would stroke her temple and pepper her face with kisses. Until she awoke, thereupon he would spirit her away to their hotel room where they would make passionate love while a gondolier with an operatic baritone voice serenaded them, his song echoing up from the Canal below.

  Then Beth’s romantic vision came to a distinct halt as she heard the words, ‘How much?’ and the answer, ‘Ninety euro.’ Well and truly launched back into reality, she looked from Danny to the idly smiling water-taxi driver in front of her.

  ‘Ninety euro? But Venice doesn’t look that big,’ she gasped, riffling through her bag for her map. ‘Just how far do you need to take us?’ she questioned the driver, after providing the name of their hotel. Truthfully, she could make no sense whatsoever of the Venetian canal layout and wasn’t about to attempt to until she had a chance to explore and familiarise herself.

  The driver, a dark swarthy man whose ancestors were likely pirates who had once commanded the waters of the Adriatic, took the proffered map from Beth and gave it a cursory glance. Within seconds, he pointed to a spot, his finger on the identifier Ca’ Satriano near the Venice Theatre. Quickly thinking back to the description of the location of the hotel advertised on their website, Beth knew he was being truthful.

  ‘And where are we now?’ she asked. The Italian pointed again, indicating the large bulky mass at the top of the map labelled as the Santa Lucia train station. When Beth realised the distance between point A and point B, she gulped hard. No way could that add up to ninety euro . . .

  Turning to Danny, she said, ‘No, Danny. Let’s take the water bus, or walk. That’s way too much for such a short trip.’ She knew he wouldn’t have as good a grasp of the currency value as she did.

  Danny smiled. While he appreciated Beth’s fiscal mindfulness, right now it was uncalled for. ‘Babe, really, it’s OK. I’ve been on the vaporetto, and I can tell you it’s not overly efficient. This will get us there faster, and besides, those shoes you have on are not made for Venice’s cobbled streets. Nor is dragging your suitcase. Spend a day in this city and you’ll soon see.’

  Beth bit her lip and tried to ignore the driver’s eye roll. Indeed, her strappy, four-inch Tory Burch pumps were not made for walking, and she had to admit she had enjoyed the first-class cabin on the train from Florence to Venice.

  ‘Besides we’re here to celebrate my promotion. We can afford it. And you don’t even take the bus in New York.’

  She sighed and acquiesced. ‘Oh, all right, when you put it like that.’ She smiled at Danny and took his hand again as the water-taxi driver jumped to attention. The man busied himself with grabbing their luggage and lugging the cases to a boat standing at the ready in the canal.

  A moment later, Danny helped Beth navigate the steps into the water taxi.

  Noticing the luxurious wooden panelling and white leather seats, she allowed her mind to return to her previous fantasy, and her heart skipped with delight when they settled into the back of the boat and the driver produced two glasses of prosecco for their enjoyment.

  Beth sipped the bubbles and felt herself relax. The boat’s engine roared to life and motored into the Canal. A light breeze tickled her face and she breathed in the smells and sounds of this amazing water city. A moment later the driver took a turn down Fondamenta Garzotti and she pointed excitedly at the gondolas with which they shared the waterway.

  ‘Oh, Danny, look, look. Gondolas! Oh my goodness, I just can’t believe I am here, that we are here. Can we do that? Can we take a gondola ride?’ She felt ready to burst with excitement and turned to face him, her eyes as wide as saucers at the unashamed glamour of it all. Italy was even better than she’d imagined – exactly like it looked in the movies, though even more wonderful in reality.

  Danny laughed, throwing his head back in obvious enjoyment. She knew he was perplexed sometimes by her imagination, unbridled optimism and tendency to elevate everyday events to something worthy of Hollywood. He was always teasing her about those notions and joking that a constant soundtrack of movie music was playing in her head.

  He pulled her close and placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘Beth, we can do whatever you want. I planned all this just for us.’

  Then Beth’s leading man turned his attention to her lips, and thoughts of gondolas, prosecco and Venice left her brain.

  At least for the moment.

  A few hours later, Danny pulled Beth close and nuzzled her neck. Having checked into their hotel, a beautifully picturesque boutique building right on the water, they now were dedicated to exploring this beautiful city.

  They had sat in a small café next to Rialto Bridge for almost two hours, chatting, people watching, and drinking a bottle of delicious Italian wine and, both happily flushed, were now immersed in the city’s historical sights.

  ‘I think Venice suits you, you know,’ he murmured into Beth’s hair as they meandered down Calle della Donzella.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ she asked as she leaned into him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

  ‘It’s beautiful, brilliant, gorgeous, inspiring – just like you. Exactly like you,’ he repeated with conviction, and Beth felt her heart soar. ‘I could secrete you away into some loft over the canal, listen to the sounds of the water sloshing against the building and lie in your arms for the rest of my life. Perfectly content. Perfectly happy.’

  She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. Not out of sadness, but because of the pure, unadulterated joy that she felt at that moment – indeed, every moment she spent with Danny. She truly believed they were on the same page. They were soul mates and he was her ultimate Hollywood hero. There was no other way to describe it.

  ‘I love you, Danny,’ she said simply.

  ‘And I love you, Beth. Always you.’ He pulled her into a secluded doorway off the small alleyway they were on and kissed her again. When they pulled away from their embrace, Beth felt as if her head was spinning. This was it. This truly was the real thing. Bridie would have adored Danny, she knew that. He was exactly the kind of leading man her grandmother would have chosen for her.

  ‘Getting hungry?’ he asked, once they had resumed walking.

  ‘Amongst other things,’ she grinned mischievously.

  ‘Woman, you are insatiable.’ Danny laughed as she walked in front of him to allow pedestrians on the other side of the narrow path to go in the opposite direction.

  Then she suddenly stopped to consult her map. ‘Do you want to try one of the restaurants the hotel recommended? It looks like one is right around this corner. At least I think it is.’ She looked at Danny for input, still slightly bewildered by the city’s impossible-to-decipher waterways.

  He smiled at her and gave a brief bow. ‘Lead on, navigator. By the way, did you make a note of that shop with the Venetian mask you liked? I know you didn’t want to carry a bag around, but if you want it, we should pick it up on our way back.’

  She nodded and pointed. ‘We’ll be able to find it again, I think. And it looks like the restaurant is just here.’ But then as they rounded the corner of the strada on which their intended restaurant was supposed to be, Beth’s attention was diverted from food as they were faced with a tiny bridge over a small subset of the canal.

  And while there were dozens upon dozens of such bridges in all of Venice, this one was unique. It was nondescript in every way except one – its ornate iron railings were decorated with padlocks of various colours, shapes and sizes.

  ‘Oh, Danny, look. What is this place?’

  ‘I’m not sure but—’ He stopped speaking and then watched a couple who approached the bridge from the other side, hand in hand, smiling happily. The couple stood with their heads bent together for a moment. They appeared to be writing on som
ething the man held in his hands – a padlock, Beth realised. Then when the woman was finished with her inscription, they found an empty space on the bridge and fastened the lock in place. A moment later, looking into each other’s eyes, the couple kissed and tossed the key into the canal water below.

  Captivated, Beth walked onto the bridge. ‘Look, Danny. Years and years of these padlocks. Here’s one, you can barely read the names, but the date is 11 August 1978. And another one: 1950 . . . it’s scratched on there. So many names. Amanda and Kevin. Denise and Bill. Susan and Tony. Lindsay and Bryan. Sadie and Robert. So many love stories.’ So many hopes, dreams and love stories all tied up in one place.

  She felt herself become overwhelmed by the romance of it all. She had never imagined that there could be a place so special, tucked away in a tiny corner of such a romantic city. ‘Where can we find one for ourselves, I wonder?’ she asked, looking towards the now-departing young lovers. ‘Oh, Danny, we have to do this – it’s like something you’d see in a . . .’

  Her words trailed off as they were approached by a young vendor with a convenient variety of padlocks for sale. Danny engaged in a quick round of negotiations, handed over the money, and then returned with the lock to Beth, who was still absorbed in inspecting other people’s promises.

  ‘What a magical place,’ she whispered, truly awed. ‘So many people have stood where we stand. Have been in love, right here, in Venice. Have wished and hoped and dreamed with someone special. Right in this place.’

  Beth breathed deeply, as if she could somehow absorb the romance and wonder she felt at that moment.

  Danny offered her the lock. ‘We can add to it if you like. I know how much you love this cheesy Hollywood stuff.’ He grinned and gave her the inscription tool he’d procured from the vendor.

  ‘It’s not cheesy. It’s romantic,’ she protested, but she knew he was just teasing.

  Beth carefully etched her name then handed the lock back to Danny, allowing him to do the same. ‘And the date, too,’ she instructed.