Chapter 4
Early December
“You’ll be okay, won’t you, darling?” Mum asks for the third time as she puts on her coat.
“Fine, Mum. I’ll call you tomorrow when you’re home in Cornwall.”
“Lovely.” But she looks worried. “Got everything, Laura?” My sister is famous for losing things.
“Yes, Mum.” Laura turns to me. She looks like she’s going to cry. “We love you, Bosie. Everything will work out. Promise.”
“Of course,” I say firmly. “Love you. Give Theo a snuggle from me. And Adam. Well, a chaste hug to Adam.” I smile, a lump forming. “Off you go.”
“Let me get that, Iris.” Rob grabs both their bags, ushering them out of the apartment.
I watch from the doorway, giving one last wave as they disappear into the elevator. I return to the living room and slump down on the couch.
Christ, it’s been wonderful to have them with me, but I’m also relieved not to be hosting my family while I’m in a parallel universe where I have no idea what’s going on.
Now there’s only this Rob guy to deal with. Hmm.
When he returns to the apartment, I pick up my book, hoping to dodge a “now what?” conversation that we inevitably have to have at some point. Just not now, I hope.
Rob walks into the kitchen. “More tea? Or have you overdosed?”
“Please. Never too much tea. English Breakfast, please.”
“At 5.30 in the afternoon? You crazy Brit.” He covers his awkwardness after the over-familiar tease by filling the kettle.
“There is no food. Your family has eaten everything, including those weird crackers that you guys love so much. We could go out for dinner? Start from scratch.” He shrugs.
“I can tell you about my work. It’s real estate, so you’ll find it interesting . . .” He trails off into silence.
A dinner date.
“Okay,” I reply finally. “I’ll resist the temptation to bring my notebook and interview you.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” He looks at me, his face earnest. “I want you to get to know me, Jose, to start jogging memories.” He runs a hand through his thick, silky hair. “I’ll call for our usual table at the W?”
We have a regular table at the W. Very fancy. “Sure.”
After showering, I blow-dry my hair, which takes way longer than I’m used to, as there’s more of it. I fix my makeup in a soft, smoky style and pick out a mid-length blue dress with a fine-pleated skirt that’s totally unfamiliar, but definitely something I would have chosen.
“You look great,” says Rob when I finally emerge. He’s trying to sound casual. He’s looking pretty great himself, in a slate-blue shirt over dark jeans. My stomach flips. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Ravenous,” I tell him.
We pull on our coats and exit the building into the dark night. The trees in the park square are strung up with glittering fairy lights for the holiday season, and a cluster of warmly dressed tourists are sipping from steaming cups at Luca’s kiosk.
At the W hotel, a few buildings away, we are greeted by the ma?tre d’ of the restaurant. “Mr. and Mrs. Billing, good evening. We have your table.”
“Thank you, Ben.” Rob helps me out of my coat, hands it over to the ma?tre d.
As Ben leads us through the warmly lit, high ceiling restaurant, Rob murmurs, “Do you recog . . . have you eaten here before?”
I appreciate his effort, and smile as I take my seat. “No, I’ve never been inside the hotel. I was supposed to come to a conference here a few years back, on my birthday, in fact, but I sprained my ankle and never made it.”
He raises his eyebrows, looking surprised. “You mean . . . that’s the day we met, three years ago, at the Inman conference.”
I stare at him. “Right. That day.”
The awkward silence that follows is broken by the arrival of the server. Rob doesn’t even bother looking at the drinks menu. “Bottle of the Pinot Gris, please, Cameron.”
I place the linen napkin on my lap. “I guess you and I eat here often.”
He grins. “Every couple of weeks, when there’s no food at home. Like tonight.”
“And your development firm worked on the hotel?”
He nods, looking a little more relaxed as he leans forward.
“Yes. It was still Dad’s company then, but we were subcontracted for part of it by another developer.
I moved here from Seattle to manage our side of things.
Then I took over all the New York projects.
And now that Dad is retired, we only do New York developments — like our building.
” He pauses. “You’ve done some research on me, then? You don’t remember.”
“No,” I say, aware that he sounded almost hopeful. “Of course, I had to research you. I’m living with you, so I should figure out who you are. Your parents sound interesting.”
“Mum and Dad are awesome. Wildly different from each other, but still going strong after forty-five years. They’ve been asking after you. They’re very fond of you.”
“They sound cool.” I’m not sure what else to say.
Thankfully, Cameron returns with our wine. I watch as he expertly uncorks the wine, pouring a little into Rob’s glass. Rob sips at it, then, after a moment, nods. Cameron fills both our glasses. “Any decisions on dinner?”
“Do I have a favorite?” I ask Rob.
“I’d say the seafood linguine, although you’ve been getting the ahi salad recently.”
I nod. I’ve always liked seafood. “The linguine, please.”
“Two, and let’s split a beet salad,” adds Rob. “Thanks, Cameron.”
“Man,” I say after Cameron leaves. “You know everybody, don’t you?”
“Well . . . around Union Square, maybe, and at a few hotels and restaurants. Development and real estate people, really. Generally, I try to keep to myself.”
“That photo of us on the red carpet doesn’t seem that way.”
“You saw that? It was more your thing than mine.” He smiles. “I was just happy to watch you having fun in a foxy dress.”
“It looked fun. I don’t get to go to stuff like that.”
His smile falters. “Since you’ve been at Halstein & Faust, you’ve been to some very glamorous events.
Lots of real estate parties. You’ve even appeared on Luxury Listing, when the cameras follow Hans into the office to film his meetings.
The producers interviewed you — you’ve been on screen a few times. ”
“Wow, that’s so cool!” I shake my head. “I can’t even get Hans to come on my radio show.”
Rob hesitates, clearly unsure how to proceed when we’re talking about two very different versions of my life.
I break the silence again. “So, tell me about Cavendish House.”
Over the linguine, awkwardly eaten with my left hand, Rob tells the story of the building, which was originally dubbed Union House, “—until I decided to rename it, as a wedding gift to you. But even before I met you, I knew I’d want to move in.
I designed the penthouse and four sub-penthouses with extra ceiling height, and we kept 1802 aside for us. ”
“Why not the top penthouse?”
“That’s where the real money is. Although it’s still for sale. But we think Hans may have found a buyer.”
“So Halstein & Faust are your brokers? That makes sense.”
“Yeah, it’s all a tight circle. Even in New York.”
“I guess I’ve seen that, from the outside, through my radio show. It’s interesting to see the inner workings.”
Rob is silent again as Cameron clears the table. “Anything else, sir, ma’am?”
“Not for me,” I say. “That was delicious.” It really was.
Rob pays the check. I notice he tips generously. Always a good sign. He watches Cameron leave, then leans back in his chair, presses his lips together. “This is hard, Josie. You talking about a different life.”
I nod. I don’t want to hurt this man, but he’s basically a stranger to me.
“Yeah. But I don’t know how else to do this.
Do you want me to pretend this is regular amnesia?
It isn’t. I mean, you’re a great guy, and I’ve had a nice evening, but I have to be myself.
I’m happy to get to know you, but you have to get to know me, too.
The real me. If that means we have super-weird conversations where you say, ‘This is your favorite restaurant’ and I’m like, ‘That’s cool, I’ve never eaten here before’ — can you handle that? ”
Rob looks down at the table. “Guess I’ll have to.” He half-smiles. “Promise me one thing? Don’t stick to your version of events out of stubbornness. Because I have a different truth. So if you start to remember any of our shared history, will you tell me?”
“Deal,” I nod, then stand as the ma?tre d’ approaches. He helps me with my coat as Rob shrugs into his. “Thank you.” I turn to Rob. “But I don’t want you to hold out hope.”
We walk out into the crisp night air, our breath misting.
“You’ll see the consultant?” he asks, breaking our silence, as we stroll back to Cavendish House. It’s late, and the streets are starting to empty.
“I’m going this week.”
“It might help, right?” He’s trying not to sound too hopeful. “I meant to tell you, I spoke to Mike. They’re good with you taking another week off work.”
“That’s good. My wrist won’t be strapped by then, so I guess I can start. It’s weird — they’ll have all these expectations, but for me it’s starting a job I’ve never done before.”
“You’ll be fine.” We’re back at the apartment building. Rob steps back to let me enter first as Ed holds open the door. “Good night, Ed.”
We ride up in the elevator and enter the apartment in silence. I’m exhausted and as confused as ever. Trying to keep the mood light, I say, “Well, I’m developing a deep relationship with Kate Atkinson, so I’m taking her to bed with me. Along with a cinnamon tea to spice things up.”
Rob smiles. “You and Kate have fun. I’ll be watching game highlights in our — my room. I’ll be at work when you get up, assuming you’re still a lazy ass who sleeps till 9.30.”
So some things don’t change. “Yes,” I say, filling the kettle from the island sink. “I am. Where is your office?”
“On Lexington, near the Chrysler. A source of art deco inspiration.” He gestures at the ceiling, the moldings.
“Indeed. Well, good night. Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome, Josie. Sleep well.”
I watch him walk away, trying to make sense of how this evening made me feel.
Perplexed, definitely.
Comforted? Perhaps a little.
And, I have to admit, attracted.