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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Julie Caplin 2018

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Julie Caplin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008259761

Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008259754

Version: 2018-04-26

For Justine, who shared the very first New York adventure

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Keep Reading …

Coming Soon From Julie Caplin

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

‘It’s a great offer,’ said Sophie, with only the slightest sense of regret that she had to turn it down. One day she would visit New York. ‘But I don’t see how I could go at the moment.’

Angela screwed up her face. ‘I understand, it’s really short notice, I could bloody kill Mel for breaking her leg.’

‘I don’t think she did it on purpose,’ Sophie said gently.

‘Well it’s bloody inconvenient, and while I’ve got plenty of people queuing up to take her place in New York for six months, you’re my best food writer. You would be brilliant.’

‘That’s kind of you, Angela—’

‘Kind?’ Angela raised one of her scarily plucked, almost-to-the-death, eyebrows. ‘I don’t do kind. This is honesty. You’re a brilliant writer and I wish …’ she shook her head, ‘and don’t you dare repeat this, I wish you would spread your wings.’

‘And you’re desperate,’ teased Sophie.

‘Well, there is that.’ Angela laid down her pen with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘But at least think about it. It’s a fabulous opportunity. Job swaps don’t come up that often and if I didn’t have the twins, I’d be off like a shot.’

‘What about Ella? She’d love to go,’ suggested Sophie.

Angela tipped her head to one side. ‘That girl is twenty-nine going on twelve, she’d be an absolute disaster.’

‘She might not be that bad.’

Angela raised the other eyebrow, ‘And I know how much you help her. I don’t think she’d survive without you.’

Sophie gave her a cheeky grin, ‘So you can’t send me to New York, then.’

With a bark of laughter, Angela flipped her notebook closed, ‘We’d manage.’ Her face sobered as Sophie rose to leave. ‘Seriously, Sophie, say you’ll think about it.’

Sophie returned to the main office where everyone was still talking about the horrible crack of bone when Mel leapt off a table in the pub at the end of her I’m-swanning-off-to-New-York-for-six-months leaving do. Across the way, the limp helium balloon, bearing the words We’ll miss you, still bobbed above a chair. Someone really ought to take it down before the incoming, very American-sounding Brandi Baumgarten rocked up to take possession of Mel’s desk.

The poor girl deserved more than the current palimpsest of sticky rings of prosecco and crumbs of Monster Munch (Mel’s favourite) littering its surface. Grabbing a pair of scissors, Sophie advanced on the balloon and, with a satisfying snip, cut it down. She’d done the right thing turning Angela’s offer down. The thought of taking over Brandi’s desk on the other side of the Atlantic was far too much of a terrifying prospect. And poor Brandi, coming here. To a strange city. All on her own. Sophie almost shuddered. Maybe she should make her some cookies, big fat squidgy ones with lots of chunky chocolate to welcome her and make her feel at home. And coffee. Americans did coffee big time. Perhaps a little welcome-to-England pack. An A–Z of London. An umbrella. A …

‘Earth to Soph. How do you spell clafoutis?’

‘Sorry. What did you say?’ She tugged the balloon down and punctured it with her scissors.

‘Well done,’ said Ella, the other cookery writer on CityZen. ‘I meant to do that. Well, I thought about it. And how do you spell clafoutis? I can never remember.’

Sophie reeled off the spelling and sat down at her desk opposite Ella.

‘What did Angela want? You in trouble?’

Sophie shook her head, still slightly bemused at the suggestion that she should go to work on their sister publication in Manhattan, the American CityZen. If she told Ella she’d never hear the end of it.

‘How was your weekend?’ Ella screwed up her face. ‘Oh for feck’s sake, spellcheck’s changed it to clawfoot. Can you spell it again for me? I went to that new French place in Stoke Newington. A bit of a trek but … oh, how was Le Gavroche on Saturday? Oh … no, he didn’t!’

Sophie winced and summoned up a blithe smile. ‘Unfortunately, we didn’t get there. His mum was ill.’

‘Oh, for crying out loud, the woman’s always ill.’

‘She can’t help it,’ Sophie protested, ignoring the inner bitch that agreed wholeheartedly. Was it wrong to wish Mrs Soames could time being unwell just a tad more conveniently? ‘And it was an emergency this time. Blue-lighted to hospital. Poor James spent all night in A and E waiting for news.’

With a scowl Ella said, ‘You are too bloody nice. And far too damn forgiving. He doesn’t deserve you.’

‘I wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t so nice. How many men do you know that put their family first?’

Ella pursed her pale-pink sparkly lips. It looked as if she’d been pillaging the beauty editor’s cupboard again. ‘True. Greg forgot Mother’s Day, my birthday and our anniversary.’

Sophie wanted to roll her eyes but refrained. Greg barely remembered anything but his next five-a-side football fixture.

‘You’re such a brilliant cook,’ said James, putting down his knife and fork. Sophie nodded, rather pleased with the way her Massaman curry had turned out, sweet and spicy with the right amount of heat, and the potatoes not too soft and not too firm.

They were sitting in her spacious kitchen, with a candle burning between them. Mondays were her favourite night of the week when she would cook a special meal because she knew James had been running around after his mother all weekend. He lived with her three days of the week and stayed at Sophie’s flat the other four. Sophie suspected Mrs Soames wasn’t really that unwell but liked having her son at home. And who could blame her?

‘I should marry you one day.’ He winked and picked up his wineglass, swirling the ruby-red liquid and sniffing with appreciation. As well he might, it was a very nice Australian Merlot that she’d tracked down on the recommendation of the wine writer at work and had cost a small fortune.

‘You should,’ she replied, her heart bumping uncomfortably. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that. And she’d thought on Saturday, at Le Gavroche, the second anniversary of their first date … well, she’d hoped …

‘So how was work today?’ That was the lovely thing about James, he was always interested.

‘Remember I told you Mel left on Friday? She broke her leg. Can’t go to New York now.’ Sophie hesitated, and laughed. ‘Angela offered me her place.’

‘What … to go to New York?’ James looked alarmed.

‘Don’t worry, I turned it down. I wouldn’t leave you.’

James smiled and patted her hand, ‘If you really wanted to go, I wouldn’t have minded.’ He paused and then pulled her hand to his lips. ‘But I would have missed you dreadfully, darling. I’d hate it if you went away.’

Sophie got up and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest, glad that she’d not given too much credence to Angela’s flattery. She would love to go there one day. Maybe she and James could go together. A honeymoon, perhaps.

James turned and nuzzled her neck. ‘Early night? I’m knackered. Driving back from Cornwall is such a killer.’

‘I need to tidy up.’ Sophie gave the utensil-strewn kitchen a quick look, wishing she hadn’t made quite so much mess and that James wasn’t always so tired, but she could hardly ask him to help when he’d just driven over two hundred miles.

And she really couldn’t complain. How many people her age had a kitchen like this? Or lived in a palatial flat in Kensington? Dad had insisted. It would have been mean to say no. She loved him to bits but that didn’t mean she was going to let him help her find a job (have a word with someone on the board), or send her to an expensive private school (she was already settled in the local comprehensive) and it didn’t feel right using the title.

By the time she’d tidied everything away and went into the double bedroom, James was sound asleep and the room was in darkness. He never remembered to leave a bedside light on for her. Quietly, she undressed and slipped into bed beside him, snuggling in, but there was no response. Poor thing was exhausted. Dead to the world. She smiled and pushed his floppy fringe from his forehead. He was a good man. Looking after his mother, without a complaint. Sophie closed her eyes. She was so lucky. Who needed New York?

Running late, see you there. And it’s my day off but love that you’re so loyal Kx

Sophie smiled at the text. Kate was even worse than she was, always trying to cram too much in and she could bet her last pound that Kate had stayed overnight at her boyfriend Ben’s last night, which was the real reason she was running late. They were still in that loved-up, passion-boiling-over, can’t-bear-not-to-touch-each-other-all-the-time phase. Not that Sophie could quite recall anything like that with her and James. Theirs had been a much gentler, soft landing into love rather than a plunge off the cliff-edge. Sophie wasn’t sure she’d know how to deal with that sort of fiery sexual chemistry. It wasn’t her style at all and part of her wondered if it wasn’t a tiny bit selfish. Shouldn’t love be gentle, embracing and warm? Something that grew with nourishment and care. Although she couldn’t deny that Kate’s happiness and joie de vivre were heart-warming, and when Ben suddenly narrowed his eyes while looking at Kate, the intensity of his look gave Sophie goose-bumps.

As she waited for her cappuccino, listening to the industrial hiss of the espresso machine operated by one of the Saturday girls, she gave the Danish pastries a second look. She shouldn’t but they looked so delicious. Nope, it was no good, she couldn’t possibly resist the cinnamon rolls.

Balancing a plate in one hand, the cup in the other and trying to keep her shoulder straight so her bag didn’t slip off and bash any of the tables, she managed to weave her way through vacant chairs to her favourite spot in the corner, looking out onto the busy street.

Unfortunately, her usual table was taken by a tired-looking woman with a young baby who was squeaking with indignation, her big blue eyes flashing outrage as she waved a plastic spoon at the pot of yoghurt her mother held just out of reach in one hand. Sophie could see why the pot was out of the danger zone. The little girl had already managed to smear most of it into her hair and her mother was trying to clean her up. From where Sophie stood it looked more like octopus wrestling.

She sat down at the adjacent table, watching their antics with a gentle smile, and was about to turn away when the young woman looked up and shot her a vicious glare, her mouth pinched tight in sneering disgust.

Taking a far-too-hasty gulp of hot coffee, which burnt its way down into her stomach, Sophie looked away, shocked by the fierce, direct hatred which made her feel almost as if she’d been physically assaulted. She took a couple of deep steadying breaths. The poor woman was probably very stressed, it wasn’t personal. Plastering a smile on her face, she took a more measured sip of coffee and looked over at her, hoping that a reassuring, friendly face might make the woman feel a bit better.

Whoa, she got that wrong. If anything, the spite on the woman’s face intensified, wrinkles fanning out around her lips like an ancient walnut, and she was dabbing angrily at the child’s face, the wipes in her hand flying like sheets in the wind.

It was impossible not to feel the woman’s distress. Sophie hesitated for a second. She couldn’t ignore the poor woman, who was clearly very unhappy.

‘Are you alright?’ asked Sophie with a tentative smile, feeling as if she were attempting to reason with a lioness.

‘Am I alright?’ spat the woman, as the little girl began to wail, and then the mother’s face crumpled, falling in on itself, the anger and spite replaced by pure misery. ‘Oh Emma, baby.’ She scooped the little girl up, sticky fingers and all, and hugged her to her body, rubbing her back. ‘There, there. Mummy’s sorry.’

Sophie felt the slight pang of envy and the very merest tightening in her womb. One day …

The little girl held on tight to her mother and stopped crying, lunging with sudden glee towards the yoghurt pot. Her mother smiled, resigned, and shook her head. ‘You pickle.’ She pressed a soft kiss on the top of the child’s candyfloss-soft curls and put her on her lap, moving the yoghurt pot in front of them, giving her the spoon.

With a calm measured look, although her eyes were still full of anger, the woman stared back at Sophie. ‘You asked if I was alright?’ Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, her head tilted defiantly.

‘Yes, did you want a hand? It looks like hard work.’ Sophie smiled at the little girl, who seemed a lot happier now. ‘She’s gorgeous. Although I don’t envy you the mess. Do you want me to get you some more napkins or anything?’

‘Gorgeous and mine,’ said the woman, looking alarmed, wrapping a protective arm across the little girl’s chest.

‘Yes,’ said Sophie warily. Surely this woman didn’t think she was a child-snatcher or something?

‘Although that doesn’t bother you, does it, Sophie? Sharing things?’ The woman’s tone turned weary and her shoulders slumped, an expression of pain darting across her face.

Sophie’s smile froze into place. Something about the woman’s tone suggested she should have some inkling of what was going on here. How did she know her name?

‘I was just trying to help.’ She regretted even making eye contact now.

‘You? Help?’ The woman let out a bitter laugh. ‘I think you’ve helped enough. Helped yourself to my husband.’

‘Sorry?’ Sophie’s hand stilled as she paused to take another sip of coffee.

‘Are you proud of yourself? Miss Rich Bitch with your flat in Kensington and Daddy’s country estate in Sussex. I looked you up. Lady Sophie Bennings-Beauchamp.’

Sophie’s mouth dropped open. This woman had done her homework. None of her colleagues at work had any idea. She kept her passport well out of sight from prying eyes. In fact, Kate was the only one who had seen it and at the time, she’d been professional enough not to say a word.

‘I don’t use—’ she protested automatically because she always did, but the woman interrupted.

‘Nice cushy life. No wonder James would rather spend half his life with you. No washing hanging everywhere. No babies crying in the night.’

‘James?’ Sophie stiffened. Even as she opened her mouth, she knew her words sounded like every last cliché in the book. ‘What’s he got to do with this?’

‘James Soames. My husband. Lives in London four nights, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Comes home to his wife and daughter in Newbury Friday to Monday.’

‘But he goes to Cornwall.’ Sophie’s legs felt leaden as if she were weighted into her seat. ‘He’s in Cornwall now.’

‘No, he’s not, you stupid cow. He’s mowing the lawn at 47 Fantail Lane in Newbury and then he’s going to build a swing for Emma.’

Chapter 2

Her heart bumped uncomfortably as the Fasten Seatbelts sign blinked on. Too late now to change her mind. To wonder whether her snap decision had been too hasty.

All around her people were gathering the belongings they’d spread around their seats on the seven-hour journey, packing up laptops and iPads, turning down corners of books, folding up blankets. Across the aisle through the window she could see lights twinkling, coming into sharper focus as the plane descended. Her ears popped, feeling full and heavy.

With a thud and bounce, the wheels touched down, the roar of the engines going into reverse thrust as the plane decelerated. She was really here, with a purseful of dollars, an address in Brooklyn and a suitcase packed with a desperately slim wardrobe to tide her through the next six months. Had she even packed a warm jumper? Gloves? Didn’t New York get really cold in the winter?

Still pondering the ineptitude of her packing, she forced out a tight goodbye to the smiling cabin crew, refusing to give in to the overwhelming temptation to grab one of them and beg to fly back to London with them on their return leg.

It was tiredness, she told herself, as she tramped up the echoey tunnel, the floor bouncing slightly beneath her feet as the rumble of cases rebounded from the metal walls. Ahead there was so much to navigate, customs, a taxi, meeting strangers and a new home. For the last few hours she’d existed in an almost pleasant no-man’s-land limbo, not needing to think about anything beyond choosing which film to watch, whether to have the beef or chicken and how to break into the plastic packaging of the bread roll.

Grasping the handle of her cabin bag as if it might give her some kind of magical courage, she followed the trail of people ahead, most of whom were head down with intent, clearly sure of where they were going. She rounded a corner and came into the huge passport area, instantly looking up at the American flag hanging from the ceiling. Nerves shimmered in her stomach. She knew all her paperwork was in order, but she’d heard horror stories about American customs. It wasn’t looking too good. Only a few of the booths were manned and the queue was enormous. As it snaked its way forward she gripped her passport tighter and tried to look innocent, an automatic response to the gun-carrying officials wearing stern, shoot-you-in-a-second-and-not-bat-an-eyelid expressions on their faces.

By the time it was finally her turn, she felt exhausted but also irritated. The plane had landed nearly an hour and a half ago, her body clock was working on UK time and she was used to European indifference and laconic inspection. This lengthy eye-scanning, finger-printing process at silly o’clock, when her legs ached and she felt positively light-headed, was testing even her considerable reserves of Pollyanna-like amiability. Long minutes passed as the middle-aged customs officer scrutinised her passport with a stone-like expression, his greying eyebrows drawn together but separated by a trough of wrinkles. He looked at her, down at the passport and then back at her. Her stomach tightened. The spaced-out feeling in her head made her sway slightly. He looked back at the passport again.

‘Is this for real?’ he asked, his eyes widening as he once again looked at the passport and back at her. ‘Lady Sophie Amelia Bennings-Beauchamp.’ It took her a minute to attune to the heavy nasal American accent and then she nodded with a well-what-can-you-do smile and a tiny shrug.

‘D’ya have a tiara in your baggage?’ The direct question held a confusing combination of aggression and curiosity.

Some imp of mischief made her say, very seriously, ‘Not this time. I tend not to travel with the family jewels.’

‘That so, ma’am. Or should I call you your ladyship?’

‘Sophie’s fine.’

He looked appalled.

‘Or Miss Bennings,’ she added with a smile, pleased that she’d broken his scary official person’s expression.

‘Not Miss Bennings-Beauchamp.’ He pronounced it Bow-champ, leaving her wondering if she should explain that it was really Beecham, but she decided against it. Not at this time of night.

She leaned forward and whispered, ‘I try and travel incognito. So, I stick to Miss Bennings. It’s easier that way.’

He nodded and put his fingers up to his lips, his eyes sweeping over her shoulder and around the room. ‘Mum’s the word.’

‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure, Lady Bennings-Bowchamp.’ He winked at her and then frowned. ‘You’re working?’ His eyebrows sank deeper over his eyes. ‘L1 Visa.’

‘Daddy gambled away my inheritance,’ said Sophie out of the corner of her mouth, starting to enjoy herself.

‘That so.’ He shook his head in sorrow. ‘That’s bad, your ladyship.’

‘And I couldn’t sell the family heirlooms. So, I had to get a job.’

‘Well, that don’t seem right,’ he stopped, his whole face screwed up in sympathetic distaste, then with a respectful nod, he added, ‘but good for you, your ladyship.’ There was a brief pause before, as if jolted back in line, he remembered he had a script. ‘So where will you be staying for the duration of your trip?’

She reeled off the address she’d memorised.

‘Brooklyn?’

‘Yes,’ said Sophie, smiling at his palpable disappointment. ‘Isn’t that very nice?’

He straightened and lifted his chin. ‘Born and bred, ma’am, I mean your ladyship. Brooklyn …’ he winced, ‘has changed a lot over the years. It’s very hip now. Not like in my day. I hope you like it.’

‘I’m sure I will.’

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you know the Queen?’ Expectant hope glittered in his eyes.

Sophie straightened and carefully looked over her shoulder before turning back to him, widening her eyes as if warning him that what she was about to divulge was top secret. She lowered her voice, ‘Yes, the family spends Easter at Buckingham Palace every year. Prince Philip’s an absolute sweetie and William and Kate’s children are such cuties. But don’t tell anyone I told you. We’re not supposed to talk about it.’

With a quick salute, a forefinger to his eyebrow, he nodded. ‘Mom’s the word. But you tell her hi from me. The name’s Don. Don McCready.’ He beamed. ‘Wait till I tell my wife, Betty-Ann, I met you. She just loves the royals. She’s gonna get such a kick out of this.’

Neon lights blurred as the cab sped past, the road still busy even at this time of night. Sophie wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant post-take-away smell hovering in the back of the shabby cab, the ugly metal grill separating the passenger seats from the front and the cab driver’s surly indifference to her. A stream of Spanish came from the mobile phone mounted on the dashboard, punctuated occasionally by the driver’s monosyllabic responses. She settled back into the battered seats, watching the street scenes through the scarred windows, as the car veered from lane to lane. It looked like the America she’d seen on television as a child in old episodes of NYPD Blue. People of all races loping along the pavements. Nail bars rubbed shoulders with tire-replacement centers, the alien spelling striking home, and unfamiliar fast-food franchises – Golden Krust, Wendy’s, Texas Chicken & Burgers – as well as the ubiquitous McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts and Seven Eleven, which looked the same, but also different somehow.

For a minute, it was oh-so-tempting to tap the taxi driver on the shoulder and ask him to turn around, go back. She took in a deep shuddery breath. Man up, Sophie, you chose to do this. Your choice.

She pulled out her phone and re-read the email about the arrangements. The company had fixed up an apartment for her. A one-bedroomed place in Brooklyn, within reach of the subway and an easy journey to work. For a moment, she let the image of Mel’s limp balloon dance in her head. Brandi Baumgarten’s desk would be ready and waiting for her on Monday, just thirty-one hours from now. Scrolling across the touch screen, she brought up the subway map she’d downloaded. It looked horribly complicated compared to the tube map she was so used to. Taking a deep breath, she closed the app. Tomorrow there’d be plenty of time to get her bearings and work out the journey to work.

The taxi had slowed, turning off the main highway, and here the streets were suddenly interesting, lots of bars, vibrant with crowds of people, pavement seating full, a world of nationalities in the bars and restaurants they passed. With a sudden screech of brakes, the taxi stopped and almost before he’d halted, the driver turned around.

‘Forty dollars,’ he spat.

‘Is this it?’ she asked, peering out of the window at several shop fronts.

‘Number 425 – right there, lady.’ He indicated with a contemptuous thumb. ‘Just like you asked for.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Sophie, uncertain as to how he could see any numbers. Maybe it was a locals’ thing and she was looking in the wrong place.

The taxi driver had already got out and was heaving her cases onto the pavement.

‘Thank you,’ said Sophie politely, as she rummaged through her purse with the unfamiliar currency and located a fifty-dollar bill. She knew tipping was big in America and had a sudden moment of panic. ‘Keep the change.’ She had no idea if it was too much or too little but at nearly three in the morning, she just wanted to find the promised key safe, get into her room and collapse into bed.

He snatched up the money and jumped back in the cab before she could say another word and the red back lights of the car disappeared down the street, two eyes glowing in the dark like a fading demon.

With two suitcases and her cabin bag she stood on the pavement, sudden fear clamping her heart as she surveyed the shop fronts. Not one of them had a helpful number on the door. She looked down the street which stretched away into the distance. It was a very long street. A few people were about, and from the nearby corner loud voices shouted.

She turned back and jumped as a man appeared from nowhere. At well over six foot five, he was the tallest man she’d ever seen, with long, lanky, slightly bowed legs that seemed to bounce as he walked towards her. Her momentary fear at being surprised and alone in the middle of the night in a strange neighbourhood receded when white teeth from ebony skin grinned at her.

‘Hey lady, you OK? You look a little lost.’

‘I’m … erm … looking for number 425.’

He loomed over her, smelling rather bizarrely of rosemary. With a surreptitious sniff, she also identified basil.

‘That’d be right here above Bella’s Place.’ He pointed to a bakery and then she spotted the narrow doorway squeezed between two shops. ‘You must be the English girl.’

‘I must be, yes.’ The scent of basil was stronger now and she blurted out, with drunken jet-lagged stream of consciousness, ‘You smell of herbs.’

‘Erbs,’ he corrected. ‘Herbs and Spice and All Things Nice.’

‘That’s what little boys smell of,’ said Sophie, now feeling a bit like Alice.

His grin widened as he pointed to a shop front a few doors down. Sophie nodded, feeling a little stupid when she realised Herbs and Spice and All Things Nice was the name of his shop.

‘You just arrived?’ He laughed. ‘Course you have, otherwise why would you be out on the sidewalk in the middle of the night with a bunch of baggage? I’m Wes, let me give you a hand with your things.’

Too weary to argue, she nodded, relieved to find the key safe by the door which gave up its contents as soon as she punched in the code. Wes led the way up the narrow staircase, carrying her cabin bag and suitcase with ease while she struggled up behind him, following the scent of herbs which spilled from a couple of pots wedged into his canvas satchel slung across his body.

On the top floor he stopped outside a bright-red door. ‘Here you go – 425A, Bella’s just upstairs. She rents this whole building.’ He took the keys from her and did the honours, dumping the case in the tiny hall and flipping the light switch. ‘Welcome to the neighbourhood.’ He fished out a rosemary plant and handed it to her, before saluting, ducking under the doorway and loping away down the stairs with a cheerful whistle.

Tired as she was, the brief, friendly encounter with a man who’d given her a herb pot made her feel that maybe life in Brooklyn might just be bearable after all.

The hallway opened into a lounge with several doors leading from it. She had an impression of polished wooden floors, two long tall windows through which the ambient light of the street spilled and a shadowy collection of furniture. She put the pot down on a table and opened the nearest door. Bingo first strike, the bedroom. A double bed, quilt, pillow, all bare of sheets. Bugger. It hadn’t occurred to her to pack those. Sod it, still fully clothed, she pitched forward onto the naked duvet, wrapping it around her. Her last thought, her teeth could have an extra minute’s brushing in the morning.

Chapter 3

Despite the god-awful time of 5 a.m., she was wide awake, her body clock, even after only five hours’ sleep, hell-bent on London time and, according to her biorhythms, enjoying a leisurely nine o’clock lie-in.

With a groan Sophie rolled over, feeling grimy, travel stained and full-on icky, her body still crimped from the plane journey. She stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling as half-hearted daylight clawed its way through the flimsy curtains. As usual, the thoughts began to crowd in. Memories of the last two years, fighting like gremlins coming up through the crevices. Nope, not going there. Refuse to go there. Shower. Unpack. Find tea. They were the priorities.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted them firmly on the wide-planked wooden floor and looked around the room. Just about enough space to swing a very small kitten, but clean and obviously newly painted. The tasteful shade of sage green was complemented by the cream-painted woodwork of the headboard and a matching chest of drawers and an oval mirror hanging above it. Space was tight, so the bed was pushed up against the opposite wall and there was no sign of a wardrobe.

She found the reason when she pushed open the second door leading from the bedroom. It opened into a tiny hallway with a built-in wardrobe and, at the end, another doorway which led into a long and very narrow bathroom. However, the shiny, glossy brick tiles and immaculate, gleaming chrome fittings more than made up for its corridor-like dimensions.

At the sight of the state-of-the-art shower, chrome-filled with numerous taps, heads and levers and big enough to take a rugby team, she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the blissful streams of hot water. It was only as the water streamed through her long blonde hair, from two different directions, that she realised that there was no shampoo, no soap and no towel. She blinked hard at her stupidity. Why hadn’t she thought to pack towels and sheets?

As she shook herself like a dog to try and dry off, using her jeans as a bathmat, she glared at the idiotic image in the mirror, her hair wrapped in her T-shirt to soak up the drips.

For God’s sake, she was normally the person who could be relied on for having packed spares for everyone else.

She went through her case pulling things out, appalled at the random contents and glaring omissions. Hair straighteners. No hairdryer. Fourteen pairs of knickers. One bra. Three tubes of toothpaste. No toothbrush. Tweezers. No nail scissors. Her second-favourite cookery book. And decaffeinated tea-bags? Just when she could have mainlined caffeine with bells on. Who drank decaffeinated anything? There should be a law against it.

Sitting back on her heels, she looked back at the last week with sudden clarity. Lord, hindsight was a wonderful thing. Now, when it was far too bloody late, she could see that her packing had been done in a blur of denial and downright indecision. Convinced she wouldn’t ever really leave. Right up to the last minute when the taxi driver rang the bell, she’d not really been sure she’d go through with it.

Biting her lip, kneeling among discarded shirts, jeans and Converse hi-tops, she picked through her final days in London. Once she’d said yes to Angela, it was as if she’d stepped on a treadmill and had neither the will, the energy nor the reasoning capacity to do anything but keep putting one foot in front of the other. Misery, it had turned out, was a useful shield, blurring away reality until it was too late to get off the treadmill. The taxi was there, her passport was in her hand and she had two cases and a cabin bag at her side.

And here she was. In America.

‘Right.’ She stood up, tugged the T-shirt from her wet hair and looked firmly at herself in the mirror. ‘You are here now.’ She glared into her own eyes. ‘You, yes you, Sophie Bennings … Beauchamp, Bow-champ to the nice customs man, need to knuckle down. Sort yourself out. Sheets. Towel. Toiletries.’

Those stupid omissions at least gave her a mission for the day. She had to go out and buy those as an absolute minimum.

‘And shopping.’ For Pete’s sake, she was so wet, she hadn’t even explored her new home. And she was talking to herself. ‘And what’s wrong with that? Come on. This is an opportunity.’ Saying things out loud made her feel less stupid. Perhaps she ought to buy one of those self-help manuals, come up with a few more convincing mantras. ‘It is an opportunity. Some people would kill to be me.’ OK, kill was perhaps going a little too far, but all her friends had been frankly envious. Not one of them had said, ‘Oh, God just think how big and scary New York is and how lonely you’re going to be.’

Her exploration didn’t take long. The apartment was small, but perfectly formed. Modern, urban and very sophisticated. Not what she was used to at all, but as she stood in the open-plan lounge-kitchen, she nodded to herself. OK, she could live here. The polished, wide-planked, wooden floors were lovely and the huge sash windows let in loads of light and provided a great view out over the street. There was a television and a black box thing, with several remote controls, which she glanced at briefly with a wince. That had been James’s department. The bright-red sofa, with grey cushions positioned opposite a fireplace, looked inviting and welcoming.

On the other side of the room, along the back wall, was a long galley kitchen, with white brick tiles on the walls separating units of glossy, dark red. A wooden-topped island with a breakfast bar created a division between the living room and the kitchen. It contained the sink, drainer and more counter space, and she was pleased to see that the hob, oven, fridge and sink were arranged in the perfect cook’s triangle of practicality.

When she opened a couple of cupboards to find ubiquitous Ikea china mugs and plates, she was unable to decide whether they were disappointing or reassuring. One half of her hoped that there’d be some exoticism – chic American branded crockery, proof that she’d flown 3,000 miles to be here. But the other half – the more dominant half, to be perfectly honest – was relieved by the sight of the familiar tall-bodied mugs and the chunky primary-colour plates. They said, See, not so far from home after all.

With a nod of approval, she was about to turn when her eye caught sight of an unexpected door, tucked out of sight at the end of the run of units.

‘Oh, hello.’ She stepped through the door out onto the deck, immediately tipping her face up to let the warm sunshine dance on her skin. The sun burnt bright in a cloud-free sky. For a minute she stood there, letting the heat wash over her. The golden glow held her in a timeless embrace, giving her battered spirits an immediate boost.

‘I want to see the sunshine after the rain, I want to see bluebirds flying over …’ she hummed as she surveyed the bistro table and two chairs and the empty planter, which begged to be filled with herbs. She would speak to Wes, the mysterious herb man from last night. Musing whether to add a chilli plant in there as well, she turned to survey the backdrop landscape of rooftops and secret insights of backyards. You could see down into the neighbouring plots. Some held climbing frames and swings squeezed onto tiny lawns, while others held compact decks handsomely furnished with expensive-looking garden furniture. She came back to the refrain, ‘Sunshine after the rain,’ and swallowed back the lump, fighting against tears. OK, so it was going to take a while, a long time before she saw anything flying over mountains or otherwise, but one day she’d feel better. She cast a bitter look at the second bistro chair.

With a sigh she went back into the kitchen. She needed to keep herself busy. There were lists to be made. If only she’d packed a bloody pen. She knew she was putting off the moment when she had to leave the apartment.

And there, taped to the back of the door, was a large piece of greaseproof paper, a jagged tear down one side as if someone had grabbed the first thing at hand, with a note scribbled on it in what looked like bright-blue Sharpie pen.

Welcome. Pop down to the café and say hi. First coffee is on me and I’ll throw in breakfast, because I didn’t get to the store for you. Your landlady Bella

Coffee. Now the thought was in her head, her stomach growled. When was the last time she’d eaten a proper meal? She couldn’t stay here all day … actually, she probably could … but she needed stuff, towels and sheets. This gave her the perfect excuse to get going and stop being such a wuss.

Grabbing her guide book and purse, she hastily packed everything she thought she might need and headed out.

For a moment, she stood utterly entranced by the window display, which she’d completely missed the night before. A picture of Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady in her iconic black-and-white Ascot costume was suspended mid-air above what Sophie could only describe as the most magnificent display. Matching black-and-white decorated cupcakes arranged on two candelabra-style cake stands stood like ladies in waiting behind a five-tiered wedding cake, its elaborate icing and shape cleverly referencing the design of the hat. Underneath the picture was a quote:

Nothing is impossible, the word itself says I’m Possible! Audrey Hepburn

Reading it, Sophie gave a nod. She needed to start being more positive. Her can-do spirit seemed to have evaporated. With a professional eye, she studied the cakes, marvelling at the precision and creativity, until the door opened beside her and someone came out of the café, followed by a waft of coffee.

Her stomach complained again and she grabbed the door as it started to close. The minute she stepped inside, she paused and closed her eyes, inhaling. What the sunshine upstairs had started, the familiar magic alchemic smell of butter and sugar, eggs and flour finished. She felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had dislodged itself from her shoulders, as she registered the soothing hint of vanilla, the richness of chocolate, the sharp citrus of lemon. The scents swirled around her, grounding her. She almost laughed out loud. Grounding her, really? But it was true, for the first time in two weeks, she felt a bit more like herself again. And then she spotted the notice above the counter. You’ve got 86,400 seconds today. Have you used one to smile?

Taking the message to heart, she let her mouth relax into a broad grin, taking another discreet sniff. This almost felt like home and suddenly she wanted to be in the kitchen, mixing, stirring, tasting and baking.

She opened her eyes and headed for the counter. Her eagerness felt rusty and unused. Now she was dying to see what was available, where all those delicious smells were coming from and what she could learn. She’d never been to America before, there was a whole new world of food to explore. Her eyes lit up. Oh yes, there surely was.

‘Good morning. How are you today? What can I get you?’ asked a petite redhead with a mass of curls bundled up in a bright-green scarf, wiping down the coffee machine.

‘Hi, I’m … very well, thank you. I’m Sophie. From upstairs.’

‘Sophie!’ The girl squealed, dropping her cloth and racing around the counter, and putting her hands on Sophie’s arms, surveying her with bright-eyed enthusiasm, rather like a great aunt who hadn’t seen her for years. ‘Hey! It’s so great to see you. I’m Bella. Your landlady. I’ve never been a landlady before. Is the apartment OK?’ She let go of Sophie and gesticulated eagerly, letting her hands take a share in the conversation. ‘Do you need anything? I’m sorry I didn’t get any groceries in. I think maybe I should have, I didn’t know but then we had a rush order and I just … well it’s always mad on a weekend. Welcome to Brooklyn.’

Sophie laughed and held up her hands to fend off the rush of words and the semaphore fingers, and to reassure the other woman. ‘It’s all fine. The apartment’s lovely. And a nice man called Wes helped me carry my cases in. Even left me a pot of herbs.’

‘Ah yes, the luscious Wes,’ Bella’s mouth dipped slightly before she continued, ‘he’s a sweetie. And always pushing those herbs.’ She nodded towards the aluminium pots of lavender on the tables. ‘Phew, it was a rush to get it finished in time, but when Todd, he’s my cousin, said the magazine needed a short-term rental, I couldn’t turn it down. Now what can I get you? Are you horribly jet-lagged? Is it the middle of the night for you?’

‘No, it’s early afternoon but I’m trying not to think about it. Coffee would be lovely, thank you.’ Normally she was a die-hard tea drinker but she knew New Yorkers were fond of their coffee and she suspected getting a decent cup of tea would be a challenge.

‘Gee, I love your English accent, it’s so cute.’

‘Thank you.’ Sophie had to beam back. It was impossible not to. Bella bounced around like an animated pixie caught in a whirlwind, her hazel eyes sharp with interest and intelligence.

‘How about something to eat? I made these lavender-and-vanilla cupcakes this morning, or there are carrot-and-cinnamon or orange-and-lemon.’

‘St Clements,’ said Sophie automatically.

‘St what?’

‘It’s cockney rhyming slang, orange-and-lemon flavours are sometimes called St Clements. It’s one of my favourites.’ For some reason she softly sang, ‘Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clements.’

‘Aw, that is so cute. I’ve never heard that before.’ Her face took on a dreamy expression. ‘Cockneys. They’re in Mary Poppins. I could do a whole theme. Supacallaf‌ragilistic cakes.’

‘I love the window. Did you design that cake?’

Bella beamed and Sophie swore the dusting of freckles on her nose danced too. ‘Sure did. You like?’

‘Love! It’s amazing. Those black-and-white frills and the sugar-paste feathers are so clever.’

‘Awesome. Thanks. Now you must be hungry, so what would you like? First one’s on the house.’

‘Mmm, they look delicious.’ Sophie’s stomach grumbled obligingly as she examined the contents of the glass cabinet. One side was stacked with interesting-looking loaves, walnut-and-raisin, rye, five-grain, along with cheese-and-herb plaits and pumpkin-seed rolls, while the other had rows of beautifully decorated cupcakes, topped with pale cream frosting and sugar-paste flowers like Easter baskets, as well as several fruit-topped cheesecakes, a line of giant cookies, chunks of melted chocolate glistening, and a couple of full-sized cakes.

‘Do you make all of this?’

‘No, I don’t have time. The celebration and cupcakes are mine. And I live in hope that the wedding-cake side will take off. The cheesecakes come from the fabulous Maisie, who lives around the corner and bakes them while her kids are at school. She uses organic cream cheese from the family dairy upstate in Maine. They are to die for. And the breads and bagels are delivered in daily by a two-man team. Ed and Edie. Well, a man-and-woman team,’ she laughed, ‘their company is called Two Eds. And their slogan is When it comes to breads, two Eds are better.’

Sophie groaned, ‘Oh my word. I just got even hungrier. And if the cakes in the window are anything to go by … you should have plenty of customers.’

Bella pulled a face. ‘It gets a bit crazy in here at the weekends. And this week has been crazier than normal. I had two birthday parties, two hundred and fifty cupcakes to make and then ice and decorate with baseball players. I tell you, those little striped shirts are darn fiddly. But then, who doesn’t love a cupcake?’ She caught Sophie’s eye and winked.

Sophie grinned back, ‘I love the sugar-paste flowers you’ve done,’ she pointed to the cupcakes on display. ‘They look such fun. I’d love to learn how to do those.’ She gave them a considering look. ‘I’m a cookery writer, so I do a lot of baking. Testing recipes.’

‘Really? Todd didn’t say what you do. That’s so cool. Maybe we can swap some ideas some time.’

‘That would be wonderful. There’s something about baking that …’ Sophie sniffed the air again, feeling a tiny bit better about being here.

‘Oh, I think I’m going to love you. Yes, there’s something about baking … it’s almost magical. I love seeing the customers. Coming up with new ideas. Watching their eyes light up. Cakes make people smile.’

‘These look gorgeous.’ Sophie peered down at the tray of cakes in front of her. ‘They must take hours.’

‘They do … but they’re worth it and every single one is hand-crafted with love,’ Bella beamed. ‘Although it’s hard work, but it’s my business. Well mine, the bank’s and my granddad’s. He owns the lease on the building.

‘Now, is there anything you need? It’s the first time I’ve let the apartment. The renovations were only finished ten days ago.’

‘Seriously, Bella, it’s all gorgeous. Everything.’ Sophie bit her lip, she didn’t want to mention the lack of bedding, as it really wasn’t Bella’s responsibility, but she had a feeling she’d make it hers.

‘Well, let me know if there’s anything you need.’

‘No, it’s great and I love the deck.’

‘Just watch out for the mossies. They’re nasty.’

‘Mossies? As in mosquitoes?’

‘Oh yeah. If you’re planning on sitting out there, get some citronella candles or a fan. Now, coffee? A latte, drip coffee, iced coffee, cappuccino, macchiato, flat white, Americano, espresso?’

‘Cappuccino, please. The last drink I had was on the plane. I’m gasping.’

‘Garsping,’ teased Bella, elongating the vowel. ‘Gee, your accent is so cute.’

Sophie winced, glad she hadn’t asked for tea, and watched as the other girl set to work with quick efficiency, tapping out the old grounds, tamping down new, quickly twisting the silver filter into place while pouring milk into a jug with her other hand.

‘Take a seat and I’ll bring it over.’

Sophie sat down at the only free table, a bistro set in the window, and took a good look around at the bakery. She loved the eclectic decoration and how it had been divided into specific areas, each one with its own distinct style where the sofa, chairs, cushions and throws took their inspiration from the wallpaper design in the wall panel nearest them.

Towards the back there was a large archway and beyond it you could see the kitchen, the table still covered in flour and utensils as if the latest batch of goodies had just been finished.

With a happy sigh, Sophie sat back in her chair. She already loved this place and Bella had given her such a warm, friendly welcome, suddenly she didn’t feel quite so far from home. She pulled out a notebook and her guide book, there was so much she needed to do but her head felt a bit too buzzy and cotton-woolly to get a proper grasp on what she should think about first. Jet-lag was a bummer.

The underground map looked horribly confusing and she couldn’t figure out the names of any of the lines, there seemed to be so many different options. She glanced over at Bella, busy behind the counter, she’d ask her for some help. She could do this.

Nerves shimmered as she looked through the window at the busy street. She was really here. London was several hours ahead and in the safety of the café she felt that perhaps if she took one day at a time, she could get through the next six months.

It would be late afternoon in England. What would James be doing? Was he still with his wife, Anna?

‘Hey, I hear you’re Sophie.’

With a jolt, she looked up to find a man looming over her, the sun streaming in through the window, outlining his shape but making it difficult to see his features. From the way he nodded over at Bella, who was gesticulating with those wild arms again, it was obvious the American girl had indicated who she was.

Twisting a chair so that the back faced him, he swung his leg over the seat and sat down grinning at her.

Immediately she was irked by his confidence, the casual attitude, so utterly sure of his welcome. She gave him a tight smile.

‘I’m Todd.’ He held out a steady hand which she had no option but to shake. His grip was firm and dry.

She stiffened, wanting to move backwards. He exuded self-assurance which made her feel doubly inadequate, out of place and alien.

‘Bella’s my cousin. I found this place for you.’

What did he want? A bloody medal?

Politeness forced her to nod and say tightly, ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ He lifted his head as Bella approached with Sophie’s drink and cake. ‘Hey, Bella babes. Can I get an iced coffee?’

‘Hi Todd, what brings you this way so early?’ She put the coffee and cake in front of Sophie. ‘I thought you’d still be sleeping off last night’s party.’

‘Who said I’d been home yet?’

‘Stupid me, of course you haven’t.’

She turned to Sophie. ‘This is my cousin, Todd McLennan. Party animal extraordinaire.’ She leaned down and gave him a hug. ‘So where was it happening last night? Or rather, should I ask who was it last night?’

‘You wound me.’ He put his hand over his heart, grinning at Sophie. ‘Don’t believe a word she says.’

‘Do believe everything I say. He’s bad news where women are concerned.’

‘Bella, Bella, Bella … you do me wrong.’ He sighed. ‘I never lie to them.’

‘True, but they always think they’ll be the one to reform you.’

He shrugged and leaned over to dip his finger in the frosting of Sophie’s cake, winking at her as he did. ‘I can’t help it if they don’t listen.’

Sophie narrowed her eyes as Bella slapped at his hand.

‘Keep your mitts off, that’s Sophie’s. She’s probably not had any breakfast yet.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, his mouth stretching into a wide smile, ‘neither have I.’

‘Have you even been home?’ asked Bella, shaking her head.

‘Yes, slept snug and tight in my own bed, if you have to ask. Now are you going to bring me a coffee or do I have to beg?’

Sophie refrained from snorting, as if he’d ever had to beg for anything in his life. Just looking at him, in his casual linen Ralph Lauren shirt and smart navy shorts, with expensive, if scuffed, loafers on his feet, you could tell this one led a charmed life. Almost as if he could read her disparaging thoughts, he gave her a charm-fuelled, dazzling, film-star smile.

‘So English, how are you finding Brooklyn?’ He leaned forward on the back of the chair, focusing all his attention on her as if he really wanted to know. She had the feeling it was a practised move, that came as easily to him as breathing.

‘It’s Sophie, and I’ve only just arrived, so I’ve not had a chance to find anything yet.’ Her words sounded stiff and starchy.

He leaned forward and pulled her notes and map towards him. ‘Bergen Street. The F line 47th/50th.’

‘Sorry?’ Hell, she sounded even more prim and prissy.

He simply grinned. ‘The route to work. That’s what you were looking up, weren’t you?’

Was he some sort of mind reader? She frowned.

‘You’re doing the job swap with Brandi. I suggested Bella’s place when they let the other girl’s place go. Man, bad luck her breaking her leg, but lucky for you, I guess. Never thought they’d get someone to fill the post, that quickly. Were you second pick or something?’

‘Something,’ snapped Sophie with uncharacteristic sharpness, stung that everyone would think she was second choice, when she didn’t want to come in the first place.

‘Hey!’ He held up his hands in quick surrender. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re not as good.’ Unexpected sympathy brimmed in his eyes, as if he knew it was more complicated than that. ‘The subway can be a bit confusing for a first-timer. Bergen Street is a couple of blocks away. I could show you after coffee.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘We’re going to be co-workers.’

‘What? You work at CityZen?’

‘Sure do.’ His eyes twinkled wickedly and he raised his eyebrows in suggestive challenge, ‘I write the Man About Town column.’

Clearly she was supposed to know about that. She should have checked out the magazine in advance, which is what a normal enthusiastic person, who’d been offered an amazing opportunity to come and work in the most exciting city in the world, would have done.

Suddenly she was sick of herself, sick of her seesawing emotions, sick of feeling sorry for herself and sick that James had done this to her. She’d spent her childhood rising above things, being sunny and positive despite everything her Dad’s ex-wife had thrown at their family. James was not going to take that away from her.

With a deliberately bright smile, she responded, ‘That sounds fun.’ As soon as she left here she would find the first newsagents (didn’t they call them newsstands here?) and pick up a copy of CityZen.

‘Oh it is.’ Those film-star teeth flashed again, although did she imagine it, or did the smile not quite reach his eyes? She got the impression he’d said it many times. ‘When you love your work, it doesn’t feel like work.’

‘I’ll second that,’ said Bella, sliding a tall glass of iced coffee in front of him. ‘That’ll be four dollars.’

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills, like tissues, handing one to her before swiping another taste of frosting from the cake.

‘Oy, get your own.’ Sophie tapped his hand smartly and moved the plate closer to her side of the table.

‘You’re no fun, English,’ he moaned, taking his time, licking the big dollop of frosting from his finger. ‘Man, this is good.’ He shot Sophie a sudden, horrified, disapproving look, ‘Please tell me you’re not a crazy person who considers her body a temple and thinks sugar is sin.’ With a surreptitious glance out the window, he added, ‘There are way too many of them in Brooklyn already. The soya-and-sushi sisterhood. All quinoa and chia seeds.’

Sophie burst out laughing, finally succumbing. It wasn’t his fault that she currently hated the world in general. ‘I’m definitely not a crazy person.’

‘Damn, and here was I hoping to guilt you into handing over the cake.’

‘No way.’ She put her arms protectively around the plate. ‘I love my food.’ With a rueful smile, she added, ‘A bit too much.’

Shamelessly he gave her body a once up and down, his eyes dancing with appreciation and merriment. ‘Not from here, you don’t.’

With a ladylike snort, she ignored the faint blush that stole along her cheeks, knowing better than to take him seriously. She’d got his measure. This was one man you should never take seriously and you’d be a fool if you did. And she was not going to be a fool again. Ever.

‘I have to run a lot to balance it all out.’ At least she’d packed her trainers, if not a sports bra. ‘Bella was right, you are bad news, aren’t you? But I appreciate the thought.’ She was never going to be stick thin, but who wanted to be like that if you were miserable and starving? Regular running kept her between a size twelve and fourteen.

He grinned, unrepentant, and for a second their eyes met. She grinned back at him and picked up the cake, taking a large deliberate bite.

‘Ouch, I felt that.’

‘You were supposed to. Mmm, it’s delicious.’

‘Sure you can eat all of that? It’s a mighty big cake. Lots of calories.’

With a deliberate lick of her lips, ignoring the hopeful expression on his face, she savoured the tangy citrus sweetness of the frosting around her mouth, sighed heavily and gave him a smug look. ‘Oh yes, I’m going to enjoy every last one of them.’

‘You’re heartless, English. Heartless.’ He shook his head in mock sorrow, his lips curving in shared amusement.

‘You’d better believe it,’ she said, taking another thoughtful bite of the soft sponge, enjoying the exchange and ignoring the little butterfly-like flutters dancing in the pit of her stomach. Nothing to see here, she told herself firmly. Good looking, charming and totally shallow, light-hearted fun and nothing more. It was a while since she’d flirted with anyone and it felt rather liberating, especially when it didn’t mean a thing.

‘So, Mr Man About Town, can you fill me in on the local neighbourhood? I need to find somewhere to buy bed linen and towels.’ She paused. ‘Although maybe you’re not the best person to ask.’

‘Excuse me.’ He pointed to himself with his thumbs. ‘Man About Town. In touch with my feminine side.’

‘Really?’ She gave him a direct look.

‘And no, I’m not gay.’

‘I never said a word.’

‘It’s an inevitable side-effect of working on a women’s magazine. You absorb shopping stuff by osmosis. If you want serious thread count – see, I know this stuff – Nordstrom Rack for quality and discount, or T.J.Maxx for discount and a free for all. Just a couple of blocks away on Fulton Street. Here, let me mark on the map for you.’

‘I need to find a supermarket too, to buy …’ she couldn’t quite bring herself to say ‘groceries’.

‘A supermarket.’ He pursed his lips around the word, lifting the smooth column of his throat. ‘Jeez, I love how you say that, it’s so prim and proper.’ He grinned recklessly again. ‘Kinda sexy.’

Sophie rolled her eyes at him, ignoring the thought that someone must have invented the word for him. ‘You need to get out more.’

He laughed and scooted his chair closer to hers, pulling open the map. ‘Here, got a pen? I’ll mark a couple of grocery stores for you.’

‘I don’t have a pen.’

‘Here you go.’ He rooted in the canvas-and-leather man bag slung over his shoulder. Of course he had a man bag, he was so a man bag sort of man.

‘Associated Supermarkets on Fifth and Union Street is good. Not the nearest, but definitely one of the nicer ones. Turn right out of here, go down Union Street and then it’s a good six blocks but worth it. I’m guessing you can cook if you’re the new food columnist. I’ll have to get you to cook dinner some time, as we’re practically neighbours.’

She raised a single eyebrow at his casual assumption, a trick she was inordinately proud of. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, before adding just as he took a sip of coffee, ‘and you can do my washing.’

With a choked laugh, he nearly spluttered his drink all over the table. ‘I like you, English. Funny girl. We’re going to get on just fine.’

Sophie gave him a considering look.

‘Come on.’ He rose to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. ‘I’ll show you the way to the subway station and then from there you can walk on down to Fulton Street, to get your home wares. We’ll take a rain check on dinner as I’m sure you want to get settled. And I doubt you’ve got any laundry yet …’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘And you do know washing in the States is something completely different?’

As she put her hand in his, there was no little frisson of electricity, no gentle sizzle between them, no … a bloody great thunderbolt of lust that almost floored her. Todd McLennan was more than bad news, he was the sort of news that she needed to stay well, well away from.

Chapter 4

For most of the subway journey, Sophie had been fascinated by the fantastically chic woman opposite her wearing a perfectly tailored black suit and her hair swept up in a perfect chignon. Despite her sleek elegance, Sophie couldn’t help staring at the clumpy white trainers on her feet. It made her smile. The epitome of New York chic and practicality.

She pulled her cardigan around her. The carriage was a bit too cool, although she shouldn’t complain, as the fearsome air conditioning made a welcome contrast to the rich, warm fug of the London underground. The train streaked along, the station names unfamiliar and yet familiar, East Broadway, 2 Avenue, 42 Street Bryant Park, 47–50 Street – Rockefeller Center, and then suddenly 57 Street, her stop. With a quickening heart she grasped the pole as the train jerked to a halt, her pulse racing as she stepped out with the crowd swarming towards the exit.

New York proper.

She’d still woken at stupid o’clock this morning but had enjoyed a leisurely coffee out on the deck. Yesterday, after Todd had shown her the subway and helped her buy her a monthly metro card, he’d directed her down Bergen Street and then down Hoyt Street which led straight to Nordstrom on Fulton Street, with T.J.Maxx right next door. Even without looking at the map, it had been pretty easy to navigate. Despite her love of London, she had to admit she was rather taken with the straightforward grid system. It made finding her way back via a rather fab grocery store, so easy. She still thought, despite Todd’s protestation that it was impossible to get lost, that it was perfectly possible if you didn’t know your East from your West or your North from your South. Some of those streets went on for miles.

Laden down with new bedding and a bale of towels, after spending far too long browsing among designer goodies, she’d only bought the basics in the supermarket and had treated herself to the rare convenience of a ready-roasted chicken. There was even a choice. Rosemary and lemon, garlic and herb or Caribbean. She’d also bought a copy of CityZen, leafing through it as she ate her solitary supper.

When a seat came free on the subway, she sat down, taking the time to have another look at the magazine. No one ever need know that her first port of call was the Man About Town column. Todd’s picture leapt out from the glossy pages, his blue eyes enhanced perfectly by the open-necked shirt he wore. It was a great photo. The slight curve of his lips lazily (and yes, sexily) smiling up at her, as if he knew exactly what she and every other woman on the planet were thinking. She pursed her lips with a tolerant smile and shook her head. Todd oozed charisma and charm … and he knew it. He was the sort of person you should treat like an adorable puppy, knowing that his winsome friendliness was totally indiscriminate.

As the train pulled into the station, she tucked the magazine back into her bag and let herself be carried along by the swell of people. She found herself deposited outside on the pavement, almost projected into the blare of the New York traffic. She stopped dead, exactly the way she hated tourists in London doing, but really! When you looked up, you kept looking up and up and up. Ignoring the tuts around her, she cricked her neck as she followed the line of the skyscrapers. She was really here. Manhattan. For a moment she stood and stared upwards, taking in the sight of the towering giants dwarfing everything around them, feeling slightly dizzy. The frisson of anxious nerves that had danced and sung in her veins since she’d woken to the alarm in her apartment vanished with a sudden unexpected bolt of excitement. New York. Seen in countless films, it felt both familiar and strange at once. This was going to be her life for the next six months. All the fear and roiling uneasiness that had been stored up for the last ten days, tightening the tendons in her neck, lining her stomach with nauseous intent and pinching at the muscles in her shoulders, suddenly gave up its grip. With an almost involuntary little skip, she turned and checked her bearings. 57th Street.

She walked quickly, matching her pace to blend with everyone else, her nose alert to the smell of hot dogs and pretzels as she passed a couple of fast-food stands and her ears picking up on the American accents around her. Ahead, a tower block with a jagged silhouette of diamond-shaped glass panes beckoned. Recognising the magazine headquarters, she picked up her step. Up close it was even more imposing. What looked like hundreds of floors of steel and glass rose upwards from the original 1920s stone building which now made up the base.

Following the tide of people, trying to look nonchalant – after all, she was one of them now – she entered through the double doors and almost gasped. It was much cooler inside but the space was huge. Two escalators rose several stories up, alongside a wall of glass and water, the sound of the rushing liquid amplified by the space. She gulped. The country mouse had come to town.

Turnstiles guarded the entrance which people gaily slipped through. She turned right to the reception desk and waited while the girl behind it finished tidying the paper on it, before fixing a bored gaze upon her.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, hi, I’m …’ Words deserted her. ‘I’m … here …’ The name of the woman she was supposed to ask for had vanished. Completely wiped from her memory. ‘I’m starting work here today.’

‘Department?’

‘CityZen Magazine.’

‘Name?’

‘Sophie. Sophie Bennings.’

The girl scanned her computer screen, her mouth tightening as if it really was too much trouble. Her frown deepened. She looked at Sophie again.

‘Can’tseeyoudownhere. Needa name.’

‘Pardon?’ Sophie could barely interpret the girl’s accent and quick-fire delivery.

‘I need a name.’

‘Erm …’ Sophie’s mind went blank. ‘Trudy … Trudy …’ No, it had gone. ‘Hold on a minute.’ Rummaging in her bag, she searched for her mobile. Why hadn’t she been more organised and written everything down?

Security was clearly tight. And she had no clue where she was supposed to be going.

The girl looked over her shoulder. ‘Morning, Sir. Can I help you?’

Dismissed summarily, Sophie paled and cursed her own stupidity. Emails. There were emails with everything in them. Where was her phone? She pulled out her purse. Make-up bag. Keys. No phone.

With horrible realisation, she remembered. Faffing about with the unfamiliar American adapter, plugging her phone in to charge.

‘Hey, English.’

‘Todd! Hi,’ her voice squeaked unbecomingly in utter relief.

‘Morning. You found your way here OK, then.’

‘Yes, but I’ve left my phone behind and all the paperwork. I can’t remember who I was supposed to ask for.’

‘No problem. I’ll take you up.’ He leaned over the desk. ‘Hey, Terri. She’s with me.’

An instant smile lifted the girl’s perfectly made-up mannequin face. ‘Hey Todd, how you doing?’

‘Good, you?’

‘Better if you’d take me out for lunch.’ Her chin dipped in coy invitation.

‘Now Terri, you know I don’t mix business with pleasure.’

‘A girl can try,’ her eyes lowered with seductive promise. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘I know,’ said Todd mournfully. ‘It’s a burden I have to bear.’

With a quick rueful pout, she pushed a pass over the desk. ‘Here you go.’

‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ said Sophie as he guided her through the barriers towards the huge escalators, unable to stop herself adding, ‘even though you put yourself in the face of danger there.’

He gave her a cheerful grin. ‘One likes to do one’s duty. They’re pretty tight on security here. You could have had a long wait while they checked you out.’

Sophie stared around her. ‘This place is impressive.’

‘You get used to it.’ He shrugged. ‘We’re up on the thirty-third floor.’

She followed him through a seating area filled with bright sunshine to the bank of lifts, and they sailed upwards with a stomach-dropping whoosh, and in seconds the doors opened with a ping. Her nerves settled with instant relief at the sight of the familiar logo of the magazine on a large glass panel. This looked more like it. Beyond the glass, she could see desks ranked just like back in London. Suddenly everything didn’t feel quite so alien and intimidating.

With a wave at the girl on the reception desk, Todd pushed her forward.

‘This is Sophie. She’s the job swap with Brandi.’

The young woman looked up, a quick expression of appalled horror crossing her face, which she masked almost instantly.

‘I’ll let Trudy know you’re here.’

After a ten-minute wait, which seemed agonisingly long, Sophie was led down the hall to a glass-walled office in the corner.

‘Trudy, this is Sophie. The job swap.’

‘Sophie, nice to meet you. Erm …’ said the tall, dark-haired woman, rising and smoothing her hand down a slim-fitting pencil skirt before holding it out.

She looked at the receptionist, her eyes flashing some hidden message. ‘Right, erm … take a seat. I’ll be right back.’

Sophie sank into the chair and stared out at the view beyond. New York spread out before her, the green of what had to be Central Park, the trees – so small from up here – reminding her of heads of broccoli, the intricate layout of rooftops a long way below which looked like Airfix models, detailed with water towers and air-conditioning units, and in the distance edging the park, more skyscrapers, blinding white in the brilliant sunshine like sentries on the border. Did you ever get tired of this view, she wondered. It was incredible.

She waited, the minutes ticking by. The tension was back, poking at her shoulders, the muscles bunching. Something was wrong. Surely they were expecting her. It had all been confirmed by email. Admittedly in a rush, but now she could remember Trudy Winkler, Editorial Director. They’d exchanged several emails, copied into the HR Manager. Sophie told herself not to panic. They probably hadn’t got her desk cleared. Maybe it still had balloons and crumbs covering it.

Trudy came back, a smile plastered on her face. ‘Right. Well … actually, there’s been a slight hitch. Nothing to worry about.’ She smoothed her skirt again. ‘We, erm … well. When … erm, Mel, wasn’t it, had her accident, we didn’t think anyone could fill her place … Oh, this is embarrassing. One of the board offered his friend’s daughter an internship … to cover Brandi’s job.’

Sophie’s fingers curled over the edge of her seat, holding on tightly.

‘Don’t worry … it’s fine. You can job share with Madison … it’s just we need to find you another desk, it won’t be with the other cookery writers, I’m afraid, but we’ll find—’

The phone rang on her desk and she grabbed it like a lifebelt.

‘Ah, thanks. That’s great. Perfect. I’ll bring her over.’

A real smile lit up her face. ‘Problem solved. Come on.’

She led Sophie through the office, where heads were bent over their laptops with studious intent as if they didn’t dare look up and acknowledge there’d been a booboo. Only one girl caught Sophie’s eye, her bright-red lips stretching in a slightly smug and triumphant smirk. Immediately Sophie knew. This was Madison, the intern. But as Trudy led her across the room past a few more desks into an area by the window, the girl’s expression changed to one of dismay.

‘Sophie, let me introduce you. Todd writes our Man About Town column.’

‘Hi, we meet again.’ Todd flashed her his usual lighthouse-beam grin. Seriously, that smile should come a health warning, it belonged in a Hollywood blockbuster.

‘You two have met?’

‘Remember I fixed up the rental on my cousin’s place?’

‘Yeah, of course. You’re our regular Mr Fixit. Need a new screen for your phone, know where to buy fresh Oregano or find a holiday let in the Hamptons? Todd is our man.’ Despite her brusque words, she shot him a wry, fond look. ‘And somehow, Todd has managed to appropriate a second desk.’ She wrinkled her forehead. ‘And I have no idea how he did that or how it gets to be in this state.’ Trudy gave the messy surface a plaintive frown.

‘Hey English, we’re going to be roomies.’ He swept a pile of paper from the surface of the desk and dumped it into a box which he then put under his own desk, with a cheerful shrug. ‘No idea what any of that is but I haven’t looked at it in a month.’

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Todd McLennan.’

‘Work, boss. Work,’ supplied Todd.

Trudy sighed, but smiled back at him. ‘That’s what you’re calling it?’ She turned back to Sophie. ‘I’m still not sure why we employ him, other than he’s cute to look at.’

Cute was the understatement of the century but she said it without irony. Maybe familiarity bred immunity.

‘And the readers love me.’ He tilted back in his chair, his hands behind his head.

‘Unfortunately, he has a point there.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Voted most popular column last month, and he’s won a couple of awards, but we try not to let it go to his head.’

At that point Todd, with a silly cartoon gesture, as if he didn’t take them terribly seriously, pointed to a couple of crystal-glass trophies on the shelf behind his desk which were doing sterling work as paperweights to teetering piles of paper.

‘However, he has volunteered to clean this desk up for you.’ Her pointed look had him jumping to his feet.

Ignoring him, she focused on Sophie, ‘I’m really sorry about the mix-up. But if you can get yourself set up here … without the aid of a hazmat suit, hopefully … then you can join us for the editorial meeting at ten-fifty. Todd’ll show you where everything is.’

Sophie nodded, noticing Madison gliding up behind Trudy.

‘Hey Todd.’ The younger girl flashed him the sort of predatory smile a prowling jaguar would have been proud of. ‘Look Trudy, maybe I should swap desks. Let …’ she nodded towards Sophie, ‘have Brandi’s desk. It’s with the other food writers. It probably makes sense. I can sit here with Todd.’

Sophie just bet she could.

‘And how would I get any work done, Maddie? I’d be constantly distracted by your gorgeousness.’

Oh please. Sophie schooled her face into polite indifference. He had to be kidding.

‘Oh Todd, you’re such a charmer,’ said Madison, dipping her head coyly.

Really? That sort of cheese was digestible?

‘I know,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But English here is going to help me with a new feature, so it probably makes sense for her to be in the vicinity.’

News to her. Sophie stuck her tongue firmly in her cheek, which only Todd could see. He gave her a twisted grin. ‘Yeah … er … An – um – Englishwoman Abroad, checking out what’s new in New York.’

Madison frowned, or at least tried to. Her forehead didn’t seem to want to wrinkle like normal people’s did.

‘Oh, OK. Well, if you change your mind or finish your feature, I can always help on another one. I know all the most exclusive bars and I can get you into the member-only clubs.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind. Thanks, you’re a doll.’

Trudi smiled pleasantly, the epitome of diplomacy. ‘Right, well, we’ll leave you to it. See you at the editorial meeting.’ She turned on her heel, making a pointed pause when Madison didn’t immediately follow.

‘I’ll see you around, Todd. Maybe we can have that drink sometime.’

Todd waved a casual finger at her. ‘You bet.’

Sophie stood helplessly, while Todd unearthed a phone extension from underneath a stack of magazines. ‘I knew there was one here somewhere.’ He stepped forward and then with a wicked grin said, ‘Let me clear these sex toys away.’ He paused, sorting through a pile of boxes before offering her an open one with a large pink plastic shape nestled in purple tissue paper. ‘Unless you’d like to try a couple out and review them for me. For the column.’

Sophie gave him a level look which he cheerfully ignored.

‘Maybe not.’ He dropped the box on the floor and nudged it under his desk with his foot. ‘Here, grab these a second.’ He shoved a handful of flimsy silk underwear into her hands. ‘Help yourself to anything you fancy. They’re not my size.’

‘Fan mail?’ asked Sophie dryly, beginning to wonder quite what the scope of his column was. The one she’d read entitled ‘West Bank’ had been a recommendation of the best restaurants and bars, with multiple escape routes for those dates that went West, as well as a guide to decoding what men meant when they said certain things on a first date. It had been funny, witty and irreverent, poking fun at men’s hapless approaches to dating.

Todd let out a bark of laughter. ‘Funny, English. Funny. No, they’re samples. Sometimes I recommend gift-buying ideas. I get sent all sorts of stuff.’

‘So I gathered.’

‘Comes with the territory of being New York’s Man About Town, aka expert on everything.’

Todd’s idea of tidying up was simply transferring most of the mess to a pile behind his desk, but she could hardly complain as it meant she now had a clear space to work in. A bit too clear. She gave the bleak desk a baleful look, regretting not even bringing her own notebook to lay claim to her new territory. Digging in her handbag, she pulled out a solitary biro – it was the one Todd had lent her yesterday morning – and put it out in front of her. It looked a little sad. Lost and alone. Her mouth twisted.

When she looked up Todd was studying her.

‘You OK? You need anything?’

‘Fine,’ she said with a wan smile. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got some paper I can borrow to go into the meeting. I packed in a hurry … I didn’t bring …’ On her desk at home, she had a pretty pot with pens, a magnetic bird that held paperclips and … a photo of James in a silver frame. Pain pinched at her heart.

‘Sure.’ He tossed towards her a lined foolscap pad emblazoned with a company logo. The phone on his desk shrilled. ‘Todd McLennan. Hey Charlene,’ his voice dropped an octave and he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. ‘Course I haven’t forgotten. Charlene, how could I forget you?’ He winked at Sophie.

She rolled her eyes and his grin widened.

Utterly shameless. Sophie stared at the soles of his trendy lace-up boots.

‘Seven o’clock is just great, Charlene. Can’t wait.’ He put the phone down.

‘Was that Charlene by any chance?’ asked Sophie, amused. ‘Worried you were going to forget her name?’

‘It has happened,’ replied Todd. ‘But it’s a good psychological trick, builds rapport.’

Sophie could see exactly why Bella had said he was bad news.

‘And now on to the November edition. The fashion section is all sewn up. We’ve got the “Hundred Best Boots for the Fall” feature. Health, we’re focusing on supplements and vitamins that beat lethargy and tiredness. We’re testing cookers for best buys.’

As Trudy spoke, Sophie glanced around the meeting room, receiving tentative nods from the people assembled around the large oval glass table. She’d been introduced at the start of the meeting with little fanfare or fuss, which suited her fine.

This was more like it. Familiar and routine. Apart from the American accents around her, it was just like an editorial meeting at home. Already their ideas were sparking a few of her own, plus she’d come armed with a few feature suggestions up her sleeve and had been scribbling a few notes on the foolscap pad.

‘Sophie, this’ll be your first rodeo. Any ideas?’

‘Well, Brandi emailed the outlines for Thanksgiving—’

‘She left notes,’ piped up Madison, her voice strident and a steely look of determination in her eye. ‘I’ve got it all taken care of. It’s not like it could wait.’

‘Oh,’ said Sophie because she had no idea what else to say.

‘Well, with due respect,’ drawled Madison in that deceptively casual tone which you knew really meant business, and was not respectful at all, ‘you were over a week late.’ With an insincere smile, she shifted in her seat, deliberately drawing attention to her long elegant limbs, and slight hint of tasteful cleavage. ‘So, I’ve got the recipes for a cheese grits-and-corn pudding, hints for perfect roast turkey and a darling recipe for pumpkin pie with walnut crust.’

All of which had been in Brandi’s outline.

‘That’s great,’ Sophie paused and gave a light-hearted smile, ‘and just as well, as being English, I know nothing about Thanksgiving … yet.’ Everyone laughed. ‘And I have only the vaguest idea what cheese grits are, but I’m hoping while I’m here to pick your brains and find out more … but I was thinking of perhaps an English afternoon tea feature.’

Madison smirked. ‘Isn’t that a bit too precious? This is CityZen magazine, not Good Housekeeping. Not grannies and their knitting.’

Sophie turned to her, with an even bigger smile, pumping up the enthusiasm. She’d been up against far bigger and bitchier foes and could out-smile anything Madison could throw at her. ‘Yes, but we would put a hygge spin on it, look after yourself and family and friends in preparation for those miserable dark nights when Daylight Saving comes in and the clocks go back. Scones and jam, I mean jelly, toasted teacakes, warming spicy parkin and delicate fairy cakes. In front of a roaring fire.’

‘Oooh yum,’ said Trudy with an approving smile. ‘Love it, love it, love it, especially the hygge angle, even though I have no idea what parkin is, but I’m sure it will be delicious. I’ll make sure I’m around the day that recipe gets tested.’

‘And who doesn’t love a fairy cake?’ piped up a very camp voice on Sophie’s left, making everyone laugh again.

‘Interiors, can you do anything in conjunction?’ asked Trudy.

‘Oh yeah,’ came an enthusiastic voice from the end of the table, where three women sat in a cluster, all nodding in unison. ‘We’re loving a bit of hygge,’ said one.

‘Cosying up the house in the fall,’ added the second.

‘Fireplace décor,’ chipped in the third.

‘Mantelpiece mania.’

‘Toasting forks.’

‘Burnt oranges, autumn tones.’

‘Velvet piles, sumptuous fabrics.’

‘Great, ladies,’ said Trudy, holding up her hand, clearly used to handling the trio. ‘And Paul. Does that sound like something the sales team can get a handle on?’ She turned to the tall blond man sitting next to Madison, who bore a distinct resemblance to a less-bulked-up Chris Hemsworth. He immediately gave an enthusiastic thumbs up, ignoring his neighbour’s less-than-discreet eye-roll.

‘Certainly can. I can see a year-on-year increase in ad sales for this issue compared to last year’s, which is great because revenue for this quarter is already up.’

Trudy held up her hand. ‘You do good work Paul, but spare me the sales figures until the senior management meeting.’

He beamed at her. ‘Sure thing.’

‘You’re off to a good start, Sophie,’ said Trudy.

As everyone’s attention turned back to Trudy, Sophie looked up. Paul gave her an encouraging smile, his eyes holding hers for that brief too-long second which no one else would have noticed, but it made her feel a touch warm. She focused on Trudy’s voice.

‘Sophie, after this meeting, I’ll get the team to show you the test kitchens and the studio. We’ve got a great roster of freelance food photographers. And the interiors team can help you dress the set for a photo shoot.’

Madison’s mouth settled into a sulky slash and she shot Sophie a look of dislike, but Sophie responded with a cheery smile. ‘Great. And I’m looking forward to Madison’s cheese grits and corn pudding recipe.’

Years of snuffing out pettiness with good cheer had stood her in good stead. Madison was a rank amateur in comparison with Sophie’s dad’s ex-wife.

The meeting drew to a close and as everyone drifted out, Paul stopped at Sophie’s chair.

‘Hi, I’m Paul Ferguson. Sales Director.’ He held out his hand.

Sophie took it and received a warm, dry and firm handshake. ‘Sophie.’ She winced. ‘Obviously, because Trudy introduced me …’ There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as she drew to a flustered halt.

‘Good to have you on board, Sophie. If there’s anything I can give you help with, I’m up on the next floor.’ With a quick lift of his eyebrows he looked upwards and added with a self-deprecating wink, ‘The executive suite. We have superior coffee up there,’ he paused, shooting her another twinkle-filled smile, ‘but we’re good at sharing. Come on up any time.’

Sophie nodded, trying to act naturally. She was so out of practice at this stuff. Maybe he was being super-US-style open and friendly, but her gut was telling her that there was definite admiration here.

‘Thanks, that’s great. I’ll remember that, next time I er … need superior coffee.’

‘Make sure you do,’ his smile was warmer this time and he held her gaze. ‘I’ll look forward to working with you, Sophie. And if you need anything, like I said. Just call. In fact,’ he pulled out a silver card holder, ‘here you go. My direct line. Welcome aboard.’

As soon as she walked into the test kitchens, the familiar sense of rightness settled upon her. This was home. She would always be OK here, even if the size and the state-of-the-art equipment along with the view of Central Park were pertinent reminders that she wasn’t in London any more. Everything was that much bigger and better. Her head buzzed with names and details as she was introduced to food technicians and the rest of the food-writing team. They all seemed friendly and envious, in terms of food, of her previous proximity to Europe, especially when she talked about her recent trip to Copenhagen.

By the time she came back to her desk, she’d decided that she was going to be alright here. Things were vaguely familiar, although she was going to have to get her head around cup measurements, which in her book related directly to bra sizes and not flour, butter and sugar. The big question was how many hours could she spend at work each day?

There was no sign of Todd but in the centre of her desk was a hard-backed notebook, with the words My Little Black Book etched in gold on the front, and on closer inspection, she saw that the first few pages had been ripped out. There was also a battered stapler; a box of pink paperclips; a selection of pens with various company slogans on them, in a white tin with a red circle bearing the words Japanese Condom Tin; and a green Perspex ruler printed with an advert for multivitamins. On top of the notebook was a yellow sticky: Desk-warming gifts. Todd —

With a reluctant smile, she touched the embossed letters of the notebook and then with a shake of her head, she opened it for a second time and, picking up a pen, wrote the date and started writing out a to-do list. Todd McLennan was too charming for his own good.

Chapter 5

‘Hey there Sophie, how is it?’

Kate’s voice spilled from Sophie’s phone, propped on its side on the breakfast bar of the kitchen, her slightly blurry image dancing across the screen.

‘Hi Kate. How are you?’

‘Little bit tipsy. Me and Ben have been out for dinner with Avril and Christopher. She sends her love, by the way. She’s not drinking, so I drank her share of prosecco. And Ben was being sensible because he’s playing football tomorrow. He’s going to bed.’ Kate raised her eyebrows in mock disgust and in the background Ben’s figure appeared and waved.

‘Night, Sophie. Hope it’s going well.’

There was the sound of a door closing and Kate leaned closer to the screen.

‘So how are you? Are you cooking loads of brilliant food? New York delis are supposed to be amazing.’

‘Mmm,’ replied Sophie with a guileless expression and a noncommittal nod, thinking of the succession of ready-roast chickens she’d eaten since she’d arrived. Chicken and salad nearly every night for two weeks. So much for being an award-winning food writer with an explorer’s quest for new and native tastes.

‘And how are you?’ repeated Kate, leaning even closer to the screen, as if that would help her get a closer look at Sophie’s guarded face.

‘I’m fine,’ said Sophie with a gentle smile.

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m not going to talk about James, unless you want to.’

‘Definitely not. This is a James-free zone.’

‘So what’s it like? Have you been up the Empire State Building? Have you been to Central Park? Have you done any shopping? Or are you too busy? I get the impression that New York is so busy and people work really hard there. Is it crazy?’

‘Yes, it is a bit. The subway’s crazy. Manhattan is busier than London. But I’ve got into a good routine.’ She made her eyes deliberately bright as she talked. Why couldn’t she match Kate’s enthusiasm?

Perhaps because the routine was quite dull.

Up at seven-thirty. On the subway at eight-thirty, coffee at Starbucks at nine-fifteen. At her desk at nine-thirty. It was all very Abba’s ‘The Day Before You Came’. Except there would be no one coming for her this time. During the day she was fine. The job was absorbing, busy and familiar, and she was getting plenty of sleep. Most nights she was in bed by nine.

‘The apartment is lovely. Look.’

Using her phone, Sophie gave Kate a quick tour of the apartment, showing her the deck first before the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom.

‘That shower is to die for,’ said Kate when Sophie finally returned to her breakfast-bar perch.

‘Yup, it is rather nice.’

‘Now all you need is a nice man to share it with you.’

‘Kate!’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking.’

Sophie winced.

‘I saw that. Meeting Ben after Josh was the best thing that happened to me. You need a rebound man.’

‘A rebound man?’

‘Yes. Someone to have some fun with to help you get over James. A fling.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Sophie severely.

‘What time is it there?’ asked Kate, surprising Sophie with the sudden change in subject.

‘It’s six-thirty.’

‘Six-thirty?’ Kate’s voice sounded accusing.

‘Yes.’

‘Six-thirty on a Friday night and you’re home alone. You’ve been there two weeks. You haven’t been to the Empire State Building. You haven’t been to Central Park. Have you?’

Unable to lie, Sophie shook her head.

‘You haven’t done anything, have you?’ Concern shimmered in the other girl’s face, evident even through Facetime blurriness.

Sophie pulled a face at Kate.

‘I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t. I’m fine. Honest. It takes a while to get your bearings. Everyone’s so busy and it feels like life goes at such a speed here. I’ve met lots of people.’ Sophie crossed her fingers out of sight. ‘My landlady Bella runs the bakery downstairs. She’s very friendly. Lives upstairs.’ Sophie wasn’t about to confess to Kate that she hadn’t seen Bella since she arrived two weeks ago. ‘And her cousin, Todd, he works at the magazine. Writes the Man About Town column. He’s really nice. He’s been really helpful at work. Showed me the subway station on my first day. Helped me crack security at the magazine.’ She told Kate the full story and then told her about Madison, and Todd volunteering his desk.

‘He sounds rather nice,’ said Kate.

Sophie laughed. ‘Nice doesn’t come close. Todd is drop-dead gorgeous. Look him up on the magazine website. He’s also a grade-A womaniser. Not my type at all. Everyone at work is very nice and I’ve got so much to do to get up to speed. Taking over someone else’s job is—’

‘Oooh! Talk about blue eyes.’ Kate’s head was turned to the laptop to her left. ‘He is gorgeous.’

‘Good photography,’ said Sophie instantly, remembering her first reaction to Todd’s by-line picture on the website.

‘Methinks you doth protest too much,’ said Kate.

‘He’s well out of my league and very popular with the ladies. There’s a nice guy in advertising.’

‘Ah-ha,’ said Kate.

‘You’re like a bloody terrier, woman. I’ve only been here five minutes. It’s going to take time to get my bearings and get to know people.’

Kate’s mouth firmed. ‘No Soph, not normally.’ There was a long pause. ‘Not with you. You make friends with everyone, instantly. I think you’re hiding away. That’s not like you, Soph. Be honest. I’m worried about you. I thought getting away from London would be good for you and that New York would be a new start. It feels like you’re hibernating.’

Sophie stiffened. This was why she’d avoided calling or Facetiming anyone back home. Thankfully her parents were away on a six-month cruise and she could get away with brief texts and WhatsApp messages. In the throes of packing and closing up the house they’d been distracted enough not to ask too many questions about her hasty decision to move to New York, and she might have just omitted to tell them about James.

Kate’s face stared solemnly at her from the phone screen and in the corner her own scared face stared back at her. The words ‘cornered rabbit’ had never been truer.

For a minute she tried to think of a dozen other things to say, but she couldn’t lie, not to Kate, and the horrible truth she’d been trying to avoid came spilling out.

‘I miss him. I know he’s a shit. I know he lied his arse off. I hate him.’ Her heart clenched and she sucked in a breath. ‘But I … I miss him.’ She was not going to cry. ‘So much. It’s like there’s this huge hole. Everything I knew and thought … it’s like it’s been scrubbed out and there’s nothing left. I feel empty and it feels impossible to look forward. I’m too busy looking back. Everything I thought … it wasn’t anything. It was based on one huge lie. Part of me still can’t believe it. And I still … I still love him. And I hate that I do.’ Her mouth crumpled and she blinked hard. ‘I really hate that I … s-still …’

‘Oh Soph, sweetie. I wish I was there. I’m sorry.’ Kate held her hand over her mouth, her eyes semaphoring worry and concern. ‘You’re so far away. I wish I hadn’t encouraged you to go now.’

Sophie sucked in another breath, feeling it catch in her chest. She couldn’t do this to Kate. It wasn’t fair. With real effort, she forced a smile onto her face. ‘Kate Sinclair, don’t you dare start feeling guilty. I chose to come here. And I wanted to. I’m just feeling a bit sorry for myself tonight. You’re right. I haven’t been trying enough. I haven’t been trying at all. Must try harder. I promise this weekend I will go out and start exploring. And I’ll make a bit more effort at work to get to know a few people.’

Kate gave her a watery smile. ‘Atta girl. Sorry, I didn’t mean to nag. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too, but I promise I’m … or I will be OK. But you’re right. I’ve been hibernating. From now on, I’ll get out there.’

Sophie closed her eyes as she switched off her phone. Without Kate’s voice, the apartment felt alien and empty. It was far too soon to go to bed, which was what she did most nights when the loneliness got too much to bear. Although most nights she was still awake at eleven. Staring up at the ceiling. Wishing she could turn the clock back. But that was cowardly, and it couldn’t change what James had done. Being ignorant didn’t make it any better. Or remove all the lies.

There was a particular crack on the ceiling. It curved from the window to the corner of the room, widening at the two-thirds mark before narrowing and disappearing again. It had become a visual reminder of her battle to keep thoughts of James at bay, as if they were crowding behind that crack, trying to work their way through, and that’s when she had to work extra hard not to think of him. Not to think of all those evenings pottering happily in the kitchen, cooking special meals for him. Not to remember waking up in the mornings with his tousled dark head next to hers. Not to long for those evenings simply snuggled up on the sofa, slobbing out after work, watching some TV detective series they both enjoyed.

With a sigh, she stood up and tucked the phone in her pocket as she looked around the kitchen. Had Kate picked up on how spotless the place was? How unnaturally she’d overdone things the previous weekend when she’d binge-watched nineteen episodes of Friends.

Through the open window she could hear laughter floating up from the street, the pounding bass from a passing car, and smell the warm city air, a smoky mix of onions and diesel. Brooklynites had come out to play on Friday night. She stood by the window for a while, people watching. A group of young men in jeans, baggy T-shirts and back-to-front baseball caps walked together, nudging and teasing each other as they loped along the pavement, moving aside for single late returners from work, determinedly walking the last leg of their commute, bearing shopping bags like champions bringing home the bread. The cheerful noise and bustle below heightened her sense of aloneness and the paralysis that seemed to have set in, stopping her from leaving the apartment.

What she hadn’t told Kate was that she doubted her own judgement. It had proved so false, some days she found it impossible to make a decision. It wasn’t as if she’d even decided consciously to come to New York. There was no weighing up the pros and cons, examining what it would really entail. No, she’d grabbed at the offer, grasping it with desperate, greedy hands as if it were a life-raft amidst the storm of fear, rage and utter despair.

Just as she was about to shut the window, she heard a loud rattle from inside the building, followed by a bang, a crash and then a loud curse. ‘You’re fucking kidding me.’

Hurrying to her door, she opened it and ventured to the top of the stairs. In an ungainly tangle of limbs, Bella sprawled on the landing at the top of the next flight of stairs below. Sophie hurried down.

‘What happened?’ she asked as she helped Bella up.

Wide-eyed, Bella clutched her hand to her chest. She’d clearly given herself quite a fright. Sucking in a quick breath, she said, ‘Tripped on the last step. For a horrible darn minute, I thought I was going to take a header straight down.’ Bella’s lip quivered and she hauled herself to a seated position, rubbing at her knee. With a sniff she nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Sophie, feeling useless, standing over Bella.

‘I will b-be in a mo.’ She closed her eyes tight and carried on rubbing at her knee, her teeth gnawing at her lip. ‘I daren’t look. I’m trying to think really positive here, but right now I can’t think of a single angle. Are they all completely ruined?’

Sophie peered down at the frosting-spattered stairs. A rainbow of bright blobs of red, yellow, blue and green was liberally dotted everywhere. Paintball splats on virtually every tread.

‘Difficult to tell. Some of them … might … be salvageable.’ The doubt was clear in her voice. From here they looked pretty battered.

‘Aw, shit!’ Bella angrily dashed at the lone tear that escaped. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit. I just spent the last three hours icing six dozen of the little fuckers for an engagement party tomorrow, and now I’ve dropped half of them.’ She rested her head on her knees, hugging them, saying in a muffled voice, ‘I’m supposed to be delivering them before I open up tomorrow morning.’ She lifted her head, sniffing as more tears ran down her face. ‘I’m going to have to s-start over,’ her breath hitched, ‘and I’m … so tired.’ She burst into noisy sobs.

‘Hey, it’s alright.’ Even though she didn’t know Bella that well, Sophie sank down beside her on the top step and put her arm around her shoulder.

After several ragged breaths and discreet sniffs, Bella calmed down. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. I’m not a crier but … it’s been a tough one.’ She started to rise. ‘Aw, sheesh, look at the mess. What the hell am I going to do? It’s going to take forever to clean this up and then I’m going to have bake a new batch and let them cool before I can decorate them.’

Sophie put a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘Just take a minute.’

Together they surveyed the wreckage. ‘Rainbow cakes?’ asked Sophie.

‘Yeah, I’m starting to regret that now. I store commissions upstairs because there’s not enough room in the kitchen downstairs.’

‘Well, it makes for a good show,’ said Sophie, trying not to smile. There really was colour just about everywhere.

Bella let out a tiny giggle as together they surveyed the vibrant mess. ‘I never do anything by halves.’

‘Perhaps you’ve missed your calling. You could always take up interior decorating. It looks very colourful.’ Together they burst out laughing.

‘OK,’ said Sophie, suddenly feeling like her old self. ‘First things first. We identify all those that are salvageable. You can probably scrape off the icing and redecorate some of them.’

‘I dunno.’ Bella winced, her face already looking a bit brighter. ‘Some look pretty darned battered. It was one of those spectacular toss-’em-all-up-in-the-air babies.’ She shook her head, a couple of red curls escaping her scarf. ‘I guess I’m lucky I didn’t take a header after them.’

‘Why don’t you sit down, have a coffee and a rest? You look quite shaken up and you probably want some ice on that knee. And then I can start cleaning up down here and we can make a plan. I can help. Be your assistant. And with two of us, it’ll be a lot easier.’

Bella stopped and looked back up the stairs. ‘It’s Friday night? Aren’t you on your way out somewhere?’

‘No. Thought I’d have a night in.’ Sophie’s smile was so brittle, she wondered if her face might crack.

‘Normally I’d say no, it’s fine, but I’m so pooped, I could really use the help. But I … I can’t let you clean up.’

‘Yes, you can,’ said Sophie with a determined glint in her eye. ‘Leave it to me. Give me that tray, and have you got a bin bag?’

Sophie helped Bella hobble up to her flat and settled her in a seat, with a bag of frozen corn on her knee. Bella’s flat was similar in layout to the one below, except it had a ladder reaching up to the ceiling in the kitchen and a lot of empty shelves, with plastic cupcake holders.

‘I normally transport the cakes in those, but they only hold a dozen and I was being lazy and trying to do one trip down the stairs, so I put them on a tray. Serves me right.’

Bella pointed her in the direction of cleaning cloths, and Sophie carried a washing-up bowl down the stairs to deal with the mess. As she scooped up the random dollops of buttercream, she smiled to herself. This was not the most glamorous way of spending Friday night, but it beat not having anything to do.

Half an hour later, Sophie had just about finished when Bella came hobbling down the stairs clutching a bottle of wine and two glasses.

‘What’s the damage?’ asked Bella wearily as she stood on the last step. ‘I brought vital supplies.’ She held up the bottle.

With a frown, Sophie indicated the tray to her left on the hall console table. ‘Ten can be re-done. But the rest are goners, I’m afraid.’

‘Sheesh, that bad. It’s gonna be a late one. Although dinner’s sorted. As much as you can eat mashed-up cake.’ She grabbed one of the cakes. ‘If you scrape the dust off.’

Sophie grinned. ‘I already ate, but for wine, I’m happy to stay, help and be your sous chef.’

‘Are you sure? It’s Friday evening and the night’s still young. I’m plain sad, there’s no need for you to be too.’

Sophie responded with a shrug and a half-laugh. ‘It’s not like I’m doing anything else tonight.’

Bella gave her a narrow-eyed stare. ‘Sorry I’ve been mega-busy. I should have been more neighbourly and been in to say hi. You’ve been here two weeks. I can’t believe that. But it’s gone so darned fast. Come on.’ She waved the bottle and glasses and led the way through a side door. ‘This takes us straight into the kitchen. I keep thinking that maybe I should have gone into catering. Someone said to me last week that’ – she bookmarked with her fingers – ‘“Cupcakes are so last year and wedding cakes are too specialised.” There’s more money in general catering – you know, finger food and buffets. But seriously, what would you rather have? A great big sugar-kiss delivered in a little work of art in a cupcake case, or a chicken drumstick in sesame and soy? No one ever said, Let them eat chicken, did they?’

Sophie laughed. ‘True.’

‘And there’s something about a cake. It says love. It says sugary yumminess. It’s like a tiny hand-held hug. Cakes are for Christmas, celebrations, holidays and birthdays. Weddings. For happy, happy days. That’s why I love making them. The world needs more happiness.’

Sophie smiled, thinking of Kate and their friend, Eva, back home. ‘Someone once told me that things taste better when they’re made with love.’

Bella clapped her hands together. ‘I love that. It’s so true. Especially when you’re making a wedding cake. Cutting the cake is the first thing a married couple do jointly. It symbolises their partnership.’

‘I’d never thought of it like that. That’s lovely …’ Sophie paused, trying not to let the familiar sense of bitterness take hold. It was a constant presence lurking on the edge of her consciousness, just waiting for a chance to dig in and take over. ‘If it works out.’

‘Oh dear. Are you divorced?’

‘No, single. Very single. And staying that way for the foreseeable future.’

‘Bad break-up?’ asked Bella, wincing sympathetically.

‘Something like that,’ sighed Sophie.

‘I’m not sure what’s worse. Having someone to break up with or not quite getting there.’

Sophie raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Bella looked stubborn for a minute. ‘There’s someone I’m interested in but he’s too stupid to live.’

Sophie flinched and took a sudden interest in the kitchen work surfaces. She wasn’t sure she could cope with anyone else’s emotional distress at the moment. Thankfully Bella didn’t say any more and turned her attention to the wine bottle, pouring two hefty glasses of white wine.

‘Gosh, this is lovely.’ Sophie turned around.

Opposite her there was an oak dresser which was filled, no not filled, rammed with a massive variety of different china plates. There was no discernible theme to the display of plates on the narrow upper shelves, which featured umpteen different shapes and a dazzling array of styles: retro fifties block patterns, vintage florals, stark contemporary designs – all bundled together in a rainbow of colours where emerald green rubbed shoulders with peacock blue, vivid pinks, pristine white and scarlet. There were more plates in teetering stacks on the open shelves below.

Following Sophie’s gaze, Bella shrugged. ‘I collect plates. You never know what you’ll need for a display.’

Next to the dresser was a floral sofa that looked as if, once you sat in it, it might be hard to escape from, a wooden coffee table piled with papers and magazines, and a couple of plain pink velvet armchairs.

All this should have looked incongruous against the stainless-steel benches and modern glass-fronted fridges on the opposite side, but those were also filled with colour and shape, so the two sides worked together. Bella clearly liked a bit of colour. The benches were dotted with bright utensil pots filled with china cake slices, wooden spoons and whisks.

Sophie felt herself relax. Kitchens were good places to be. You knew where you were in them. There was something safe and reassuring about knowing that when you were baking, if you added the right quantities and the right ingredients, and did the right things, you’d know what you’d get. A well-stocked and well-resourced kitchen like this was like coming home.

‘Cheers,’ said Bella, holding up her glass.

‘Cheers.’

They chinked glasses.

‘Thanks, Sophie. I really appreciate this.’

‘I haven’t done anything yet.’

‘Aside from cleaning up. And offering moral support.’

Sophie looked around the kitchen. ‘So, what would you like me to do?’

‘First, I need to get cracking on making a new batch of cakes. So, if you can be my go-to girl on weights and measures and weigh out all the fixings, that would be awesome. My basic recipe is here.’ She pointed to a laminated sheet pinned to a pin-board. ‘Scales over there. Sticks of butter in the fridge. Dry goods in the pantry. Eggs on the shelf. Thank goodness I stocked up this week.’

Thanks to her crash course in conversion over the last two weeks, Sophie had got a handle on things and knew that a stick of butter equated to half a cup of butter or four ounces in English measurement, so she set to following Bella’s swift instructions to assemble all the ingredients beside a professional Kitchen Aid.

‘I’ve got one of these at home,’ said Sophie, stroking the smart red enamel like a pet.

‘Silly me, I completely forgot you’re a foodie. You can cook then.’

‘Just a bit,’ said Sophie, laughing.

‘You can make the batter, while I mix up a new batch of frosting and re-ice these ones.’

‘I was going to ask you if I could watch you one day. I’m working on a feature on afternoon tea, English style, and I wanted to make some cupcakes and come up with some autumn, I mean fall, themed toppings.’

‘Ooh, I’d love to help. Fall leaf colours would be good. I could do a seasonal display. I’d have to think flavours.’

‘Ginger. You could make parkin cakes.’

‘Parkin?’

Sophie explained what it was. Soon the two of them were bouncing cake recipe and ideas back and forth, and by the time the first batch of cakes came out of the oven they’d drunk most of the bottle of wine.

When the second batch of cakes went in, they sank to the floor, clutching their glasses with the very last dregs of the wine. In tired silence, they watched the cakes in the oven slowly rise and turn golden.

Sophie sighed and took a last sip of wine. ‘There’s nothing quite like that moment when the cake goes pouf over the top of its case. It makes me feel like there’s some sense in the world. All’s well when it does what it’s supposed to.’

‘I’d never thought of it like that, but you’re right. There’s nothing quite like that moment. Pouf.’ Bella waved her wineglass at Sophie. ‘Pouf is the perfect word. Although why we are sitting here when I have a perfectly good sofa over there, is bonkers.’ She awkwardly raised herself to her feet and hobbled over to one of the pink armchairs, lowering herself gingerly and putting her bad leg on the messy table. Sophie followed and sank into the sofa opposite.

‘Sophie, you’re a godsend. I think if it hadn’t been for you I would have wept hysterically on the stairs for the whole night.’

‘Your knee not so good?’ Even from the sofa Sophie could see that Bella’s injured knee was almost double the size of the other.

‘No. It’s sore. And very stiff. Shit, I hope I can drive tomorrow.’ Bella leaned over and prodded it. ‘It’s very swollen. I can hardly bend it.’

‘Is there anyone else who could help deliver them? Could you put them in a taxi?’

‘Not really. To be honest, it’s a two-man job. I need someone to hang onto the boxes. I usually ask my friend Wes, but …’ she tightened her lips, ‘I was going to ask you if you could help out.’

‘Course, I don’t mind. I’d offer to drive but …’ she pulled a face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been behind the wheel of a car. Living in central London, she used public transport all the time.

Bella winced and looked at her watch. ‘I can try calling the cavalry … see if Todd’s available. What’s the chance of him being around on a Friday night?’

‘Slim,’ suggested Sophie. ‘In fact, I’d say given that I’ve been fielding his calls all week from a stream of lovely girls, he’s bound to be out on a hot date.’

She’d already decided he was like Macavity, the Mystery Cat – i.e. never there. Certainly not at his desk when she was in the office, although there were definite signs of habitation. Usually empty coffee cups and cookie crumbs. The switchboard kept putting his calls through to her extension and she’d been the recipient of several very perky, friendly repeat calls from women trying to track him down. To be fair – and that was one of Sophie’s strengths, she was exceedingly good at being fair – the women were always absolutely charming and, rather bafflingly, completely understanding about his failure to return their calls.

‘Aw, poor Todd. He’s so busy. If you could tell him that Lacey called again, I’d be grateful.’ Poor Todd. Poor Lacey, more like. She’d called four times this week. While Cherie with the lisp had called three times and high-pitched, giggly Amy twice.

‘Well, I’ll have to call him,’ said Bella, wiping at her forehead with her arm, leaving a streak of flour across her face. ‘I can’t think of anyone else with a car.’

She tapped her fingers on her phone screen. To Sophie’s surprise, the phone only rang twice and then she heard Todd answer.

‘Hey Todd.’

‘Hey Bellabella. What you up to?’

‘Having a disaster. I need your help.’

‘Shoot.’

‘Would you be able to help with a delivery tomorrow morning? I need to get six dozen cupcakes over to the other side of Greenpoint.’

Sophie waited, expecting a slew of questions and excuses.

‘Sure. What time?’

‘Early, I’m afraid. I said I’d get them there for eight because I thought I’d need to get back to open the shop. My Saturday girls don’t start until ten. It’s a bit late to phone the client and change the arrangements now.’ Bella winced.

‘No problem. I’ll be there at seven. You’d better have a coffee ready.’

‘Todd, you’re an angel.’

‘Does that mean I qualify for a lifetime supply of heavenly cupcakes?’

‘You bet. See you tomorrow.’

‘Laters.’

Bella turned to Sophie. ‘He’s a star. So will you go with him? Sorry, you’ve probably got plans.’

‘Of course I can help.’

‘And you should be finished by nine.’

Great. That just left the rest of the day to fill.

Chapter 6

‘Hey English,’ said Todd, immediately stepping forward and relieving her of the first box of cupcakes. He had that healthy, wholesome glow of a character from a TV ad, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, in a crisp white cotton button-down-collar shirt and denim shorts which showed off perfectly even-tanned legs.

She wasn’t sure why she had, but thank goodness she’d washed her hair, blow dried it into soft curls for a change and put on some make-up. She didn’t feel like a bag lady next to him. Even better that she’d put on her favourite cobalt-blue linen shirt that did wonders for her eyes and cut-off shorts that showed off her legs, which apart from her hair (on the days like today, when it behaved itself) were definitely her best attribute.

Not that, scrubbed up, she came anywhere close to matching his golden beauty. No wonder he had a harem of women panting down the phone to speak to him.

‘Morning Todd.’ She was deliberately brisk. The stupid sudden fluttering in her chest could just back off. Hormones had a lot to answer for. That must be it. Normal healthy response. She was not the sort of girl who had crushes. She was far too sensible, and after James, a relationship-free bastion of singledom.

‘How many boxes have we got?’ He grinned, eyes twinkly and direct. The flutter intensified and she had to suck in an extra breath.

‘J-just another two.’ She shot him a perfunctory, polite, see-your-thousand-watt-charisma-has-no-effect smile in response.

‘Cool.’ His grin didn’t so much as dim. ‘My car’s in a no-waiting area around the corner. You can’t miss it.’ He was already heading off down the street, calling over his shoulder. ‘I’ll take these if you can bring the others.’

She took a steadying breath, watching him as he strode off. God, he had a nice backside. Broad shoulders, tapering down to a trim waist and that … yeah, that backside. What the hell was wrong with her? Objectifying the poor man. She gave herself a stern mental shake.

She marched back into the kitchen to grab the last two boxes.

‘Here’s the receipt. You need to give it to the customer. They’ve already paid. Good luck and don’t take any risks. Make sure Todd drives like an old lady. I feel this batch is jinxed.’

‘Bella, don’t worry. I’ll guard them with my life.’ They exchanged knowing smiles. They’d finally finished very late the night before.

Carrying the two boxes, she rounded the corner and nearly stopped dead. Todd was right, you couldn’t miss his car. So much for the assumption he’d be a BMW or Mercedes type of man. She had to slow her steps down, while she schooled her face. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings but it took a second or two to mask her surprise. This car was a mess, without doubt the scruffiest, tattiest thing she’d ever seen. And so not Todd, who usually rocked the preppy look with his crisp chino shorts and perfectly pressed linen shirts. The ancient Golf had a huge dent in the driver’s door, the bumper at the back was missing and the panel of the rear door was bright blue, in ugly contrast to the dark racing-green paintwork of the rest of the car. As she neared she could see that the paintwork on the bonnet had bubbled with pale craters, looking like skin peeling after a nasty case of sunburn.

‘Interesting car,’ she said straight faced, handing the boxes over to him. Despite the distraction of the car, she was still unable to stop herself ogling his pert bottom as he leant into the rear seat to stow them next to the others.

When he turned back to her his face danced with mischievous wickedness. ‘Pisses the hell out of my dad when I go home and park it on the drive. Lowers the tone of the neighbourhood.’

She laughed. ‘I bet it does. I don’t want to be rude, but this would lower the tone of a rubbish tip.’ She shot the wheels a dubious look. ‘Does it actually work or is it like Fred Flintstone’s car and we have to run?’

‘I’ll have you know, Gertie …’ he paused and patted the car door, ‘is a loyal if occasionally temperamental old girl. She doesn’t like winter mornings, but then who does?’

‘As long as she starts today and gets these cakes to … wherever we’re going, I don’t mind. Bella is counting on us.’

Suddenly serious, Todd straightened up and pulled his keys out of his pocket. ‘I wouldn’t let Bella down.’ Then his face lightened and with his usual engaging grin, he said, holding out his hand, ‘Come on, strap yourself in and prepare yourself for the ride of your life.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ she said primly, her eyes twinkling as she pressed her lips together, trying not to smile back at him. He was totally incorrigible. ‘I’m grateful no one round here knows me.’

He slapped a hand to his chest. ‘Shsh! You’ll upset her.’

Sophie climbed into the back seat next to the boxes.

From the driver’s seat, he handed his phone back to her. ‘Here, you’ll need to navigate. The sound doesn’t work when it’s charging and it’s low on battery at the moment. I know my way until we cross Fulton Street and then I’ll need directions.’

The car coughed to life with a roar and a bit of splutter but Todd looked unconcerned as they pulled out onto the one-way street, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time to the music blaring out from the radio. Interestingly, Sophie noticed as she looked at the floor and the back seat, the inside of the car was absolutely pristine.

‘Take the next right here,’ said Sophie, holding Todd’s iPhone in one hand, while the other kept a gentle guard on the boxes of cupcakes to keep them from sliding around the back of the car. ‘We must be nearly there … Yes,’ she checked the screen, ‘up this street and then second on the right.’

‘Two blocks, English,’ corrected Todd, catching her eye in the mirror with his usual sunny smile. ‘We’ll make an American of you yet.’

‘You can try but I come from a long line of very English English-folk.’ As evidenced in the heavy leather-bound Bible in the library which traced the family tree right back to the court of Charles II.

‘Challenge accepted,’ said Todd.

‘What? That wasn’t a challenge, just an observation.’ Sophie rolled her eyes at him in the mirror but of course received his usual grin.

Todd’s battered car turned the final corner, into a street of brownstones.

‘It’s nice round here.’

‘Up and coming. They film The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt here. And a couple of other things.’

‘I’ve heard of it, but not seen it.’

‘Big hit. Funny.’

Sophie resolved to check it out on Netflix. That would give her something to watch this week.

With the cakes safely delivered, she hopped into the front seat of the car for the return trip.

‘Have you had breakfast?’ asked Todd.

‘No, it was too early and now it’s too late.’

‘Welcome to New York, it’s never too late for brunch, unless you’ve got plans.’

Sophie hesitated for a second, remembering her conversation with Kate the previous evening. A few weeks ago she wouldn’t have thought twice, in fact she’d probably have already suggested a coffee or breakfast.

‘No, no plans. Brunch would be … great. If you’ve got time.’ It would be a fabulous way of killing a few hours and would make her feel that she was at least starting to make an effort to get out and about.

With a rueful grimace, she realised that actually not much had changed. In London, she’d spent a lot of hours at the weekends killing time. Large chunks of her life had been held in abeyance while she waited for James to be around. It made her cross to realise how much time she’d wasted. On weekday evenings she’d been desperate to savour every precious moment of his company, so they’d stayed in the flat. Of course, now it made complete sense. It had lessened the chance of discovery, bumping into someone who might know him. Missed trips to the theatre, to exhibitions, to new restaurants. Not going to Kew Gardens at Christmas, not going to Notting Hill Carnival, not going to Proms in the Park.

And now she was in danger of repeating the same mistake here. Of staying indoors. Not venturing out on her own.

‘For you, I’ve got all the time in the world.’

Sophie rolled her eyes again. ‘Yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls.’

‘Of course I do.’ He flashed her an irrepressible grin. ‘There’s a great place near Bella’s. Café Luluc. It will be ridiculously busy, but worth it. A Mexican family runs it. They do fantastic brunch. I can go get rid of the car, if you don’t mind waiting in line.’

‘You mean queuing,’ Sophie’s repressive tone was tempered with a wry smile.

‘You queue, I’ll wait in line.’ He winked at her.

‘Go on, then.’ She couldn’t help smile back at him, his easy-going cheerful attitude was infectious.

Standing in the sunshine, watching everyone on Smith Street, was no hardship. Todd had told her he’d be a while, as despite his resident’s permit, it could be tricky finding a parking space. She didn’t mind the wait; it was fun people watching, especially in a different city. Why hadn’t she done this before?

Experience told her that a queue this long meant that the food would be worth every minute. It also gave her plenty of time to give the menu a thorough examination. Her passion for food and English collided in happy accident, after she spectacularly failed her A levels. Deciding to take a year out, she got a part-time job in admin at the local paper and a waitressing job in a newly opened gastro-pub in the village. The food at The White Hare in Haresfoot was some of the best she’d ever tasted and when she wrote a review and showed it to George, the editor of the paper, he promptly published it and gave her a job writing a food column.

‘What’s with the frown?’ asked Todd when he finally joined her in the queue.

‘It’s so hard, I can’t decide whether to have the eggs Florentine or the brioche French toast with apple compote. Or maybe I should try the omelette with wild mushrooms and Asiago cheese. I’ve no idea what Asiago cheese is.’

‘So why would you try it?’

Sophie took off her sunglasses and gave him her best schoolteacher reproving stare. ‘It’s important for your food education.’

‘Right.’ Todd nodded, for once trying to keep the smile from his face.

‘I’m serious. You should never stop trying new things. You might miss out on something amazing.’

‘I’ll take your word for it. So how did you get into the whole food-writing thing?’

By the time Sophie had told him the full story, they were ushered to a booth at the back of the restaurant and sat down on red vinyl seats at a white-clothed table. When the couple sitting next to them had their food served, Sophie couldn’t help leaning over and asking what they’d ordered.

They responded with instant open friendliness and enthusiasm that made her doubly ashamed that this was her first proper weekend outing since she’d been here.

‘Now I’m even more undecided,’ she confided to Todd, sneaking another look at their neighbours’ eggs Benedict. ‘They look yummy.’ She strained her neck, watching a waiter taking out three plates to a table near the front of the restaurant. ‘Everything looks divine.’

‘Close your eyes and stick a finger on the menu,’ suggested Todd, leaning back against the seat, his arm lazily topping the booth.

Sophie drew herself up and, widening her eyes, gave a mock outraged gasp, ‘I couldn’t possibly do that.’

He laughed. ‘I knew that. Crunch time. The waiter is heading this way and I am starving, so you’re going to have to make your choice.’ He leaned forward with mock threat. ‘And I will order without you.’

‘Oh.’

She huffed and puffed as the waiter patiently stood with his notepad exchanging looks with Todd.

‘I’ll have the brioche French … oh, actually, can you tell me what Asiago cheese is?’

‘It’s a nutty, firm cheese, not as strong or dry as parmesan or pecorino but very similar.’

‘Right …’ she pulled a face and turned to Todd. ‘That makes it even harder.’

Todd rolled his eyes and turned to the waiter. ‘She’ll have the brioche French toast with apple compote and I’ll have the wild mushroom and Asiago cheese omelette.’ He turned back to her with a quick aside, ‘You can share mine,’ before also ordering coffee and orange juice.

‘Tea for me, please.’

Scribbling on his pad as he went, the waiter scooted off.

‘You didn’t have to do that. Now I feel guilty.’

‘Well don’t. I’ve eaten here plenty of times. I like omelette and for my food education, I thought I’d try the cheese. And you can try both.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘Kind is my middle name,’ said Todd airily.

Sophie studied him from under her lashes. With some people kindness could be quite self-serving, almost calculated. Todd’s came naturally.

‘So how are you finding New York?’

She shrugged. Evasive, her eyes studying the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling. ‘I’ve only been here two weeks. And most of the time I’ve been at work.’

Scepticism flared in his eyes, when she brought her gaze back to eye level.

Defensive now, she fingered some stray salt grains on the table. ‘There’s plenty of time. I’m here for six months.’

The raised eyebrow had her digging in deeper. ‘There’s no hurry. Everything will still be there tomorrow and every day after that.’

‘Yeah, but it’s New York. The city that never sleeps, remember? You must have been downtown at lunchtimes.’

‘Erm … not really.’

‘What?’ He gave a suspicious look.

‘I tend to grab a coffee and …’ she shrugged. She’d got into a routine of popping down to the coffee shop in the atrium to grab a drink, sitting people watching, pretending she was engrossed in Facebook or something on her phone.

‘You should try to get out. Central Park is less than a block away.’

‘I … guess. It’s just … quite.’ She hated sounding so defensive. ‘Gosh, sorry, I’m not normally this pathetic. I didn’t want to … I mean, I wasn’t expecting to come and I had to turn everything around quite quickly, and it’s all been …’

‘Overwhelming?’ he asked softly.

She shot him a grateful look. ‘Yes. I feel like I’ve been pitched in at the deep end where everyone else is travelling at warp speed and I’m in the slow lane.’

‘You’ll get the hang of it. There’s nowhere quite like it. But it’s easy to be lonely here. Become anonymous.’

‘It is in any big city.’

‘True. So why didn’t you want to come here? The Big Apple. Everyone wants to come to New York.’ He lifted both arms up with a quick, mocking jazz hands.

She shot him a sharp look, surprised by his unexpected insight.

‘How did you know?’

‘I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I listen. You were going to say you didn’t want to come.’

She winced. She was too ashamed to tell him the whole story.

‘I was quite happy. Then I split up with my boyfriend and I thought, why the hell not?’

Todd raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘How long had you been with him?’

‘Two years.’

‘Two years! Get out of here. That’s longer than some marriages last.’ He paused before asking quietly, ‘And is it permanent? No chance of getting back together? Or is this a way of showing him what he’s missing? Is he likely to come chasing after you, with a ring box?’

She shot him a withering look, disappointed by his cynicism.

‘Oh this is permanent, alright.’ The circling bitterness, which she normally kept in check, burst out. ‘As permanent as possible.’

‘Funny how love turns to hate so easily.’ Todd didn’t sound the least bit amused, his voice was tinged with weary disillusion. ‘Or rather it’s not funny at all. It seems to happen with remarkable ease.’

Sophie swallowed hard. ‘And sometimes it doesn’t.’

She wanted to wake up and find out it had all been a huge mistake and that the James married to Anna was in fact a different James Soames. Unfortunately, Anna had brought two photos with her that day. The sight of James in a morning suit next to his glowing bride and the look of tenderness on his face as he gazed at a new-born Emma had physically hurt. The intense pain in her chest had robbed her of breath.

‘I find it interesting that there is such a fine line. How does a couple go from being not able to live without each other, to arguing over who gets the toaster?’

‘We weren’t arguing about toasters.’ Sophie swallowed hard. ‘We never argued. Which just goes to show. Love is blind.’ In hindsight, she’d been blind, deaf and dumb. There’d been clues aplenty.

‘I never got that phrase. Love is blind. Is it? When you’re “in love”’ – those horrid quote marks with his fingers told her exactly what he thought – ‘don’t you examine every little thing they do? Analyse everything they say. Dissect the meaning of every last word and phrase. I suspect you can be blinded by love, although it’s probably lust. Dazzled by sexual attraction.’

‘So, you don’t believe in love?’

Todd snorted. ‘It’s an idea, a social concept, if you will.’ She heard the New Yorker in his voice, and it was almost as if a different person were speaking. ‘Songs, books, they all talk about being love. I get that you can care about someone. You can be in a mutually respectful relationship. You can promise to be faithful … but at the end of the day, humans are intrinsically selfish and self-seeking. We look out for number one. That ideal of love being all-encompassing, hearts and flowers, self-sacrificing, that’s fiction. Your books and songs.’

‘Wow.’ Sophie paused as she sieved the words one by one through her filter of despair and betrayal, and found to her relief that despite what she’d been through she was still able to say, ‘That’s quite depressing.’ She smiled, as a little bit of the iceberg of pain lodged firmly in her heart, melted. ‘Despite everything with J—’ she refused to say his name out loud, give him any more room in her life, ‘I still believe that one day, I’ll find love with someone else.’

‘So in the meantime, you’re in … what, in an emotional holding bay, that just happens to be New York?’

Sophie wriggled uncomfortably in her seat, stung by his rather accurate summation. ‘Something like that.’

‘That’s a terrible waste of living.’

‘What?’

‘This is one of the greatest cities on earth. Brooklyn is one of the best neighbourhoods to live in. Six months. You can only scratch the surface. You should be making the most of every last damn second.

‘You should check some places out. Prospect Park. DeKalb Market Hall, north of Fulton Street. About three blocks over. I’ve heard it’s a real foodie haven. There’s a great flea market up at Kent Avenue. What are you doing next weekend?’

‘I …’ she lifted her shoulders.

‘Aside from chores?’ pressed Todd.

‘I’ve got to do my washing sometime.’

‘Babe, we’ve had the washing talk already. Your laundry isn’t going to take all day. You need to get out there. Although you can still cook me dinner.’ He cocked his head with a hopeful look that had Sophie laughing.

‘Great. It won’t stop you doing my wash— laundry, although I’m not sure I want you handling my underwear.’ She was surprised that there was no washing machine in the apartment. She’d rinsed a few things through by hand.

‘I’m pretty good at handling underwear.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? I’ll pass though.’

‘English, a tip. There’s a service laundromat on Hoyt Street. Five bucks for a load. Washed, dried and folded.’

‘That’s good to know. I’d never have thought of that.’ She sat up straighter, brightened at the prospect. ‘I am so going to do that this afternoon.’

‘Welcome to America.’

Chapter 7

The laundromat smelled soft and clean, the soothing hum of tumble dryers cushioning the noise of the street outside. It was like fabric softener for the soul. Sophie handed over a large sack of washing and paid her five dollars.

‘When will it be ready?’ she asked.

‘Five cock. You come,’ said the ancient Vietnamese lady tapping her finger on the Formica counter top. ‘Five cock.’ Even though it was childish, Sophie bit back a snigger.

‘Today?’

The lady looked affronted. ‘Yes.’

‘Great. Thank you.’ That was good service. Thank goodness for Todd’s advice yesterday afternoon.

The woman had already stomped off like a bandy-legged Rumpelstiltskin to one of the dryers, where she started pulling out sheets bigger than she was.

‘Oh, I forgot to say. Todd sent me.’

The woman dropped the sheet. ‘Todd. He good boy.’ She beamed. Was there any female he wasn’t capable of charming?

Sophie left the shop with the promise of clean underwear later that afternoon, feeling she had achieved something. OK, so it was only washing, but it made her feel normal. As if she were starting to get back to normal. A big tick on her weekend list. Now all she had to do was fill the rest of today.

She could keep walking, except that Hoyt Street, or at least this part, seemed a lot less fancy than Smith Street a block away. There were a couple of grocery and deli shops, the windows plastered with flyers and adverts for cheap offers; corner shops with grimy windows and hand-written signs promising cola at fifty cents; a scruffy pharmacy, a chicken and pizza fast-food place and a bike shop. The metal grills and the basic shop fronts were a far cry from the smart wooden trim finishes and fancy sign-written shop names a street away.

Two teenagers in oversize hoodies and enormous trainers eyed her as they leaned on bikes against a lamp-post. Conscious of two pairs of eyes burning into her back and feeling slightly vulnerable, Sophie picked up her pace and scurried down the street towards home. All her good intentions to explore the area evaporated.

As she drew level with the bakery, she spotted Bella beckoning her enthusiastically through the window.

‘Hey Sophie! Good morning, come and meet the Eds.’ Bella bounded up to her and dragged her past the busy tables into the warm kitchen, filled with the slightly steamy air of hot ovens and freshly baked batches of cakes.

‘This is Edie and this is Ed. Guys, meet my new neighbour, Sophie. And I think you met Wes when you arrived.’ Wes, leaning against the dresser, nodded and gave her a wide smile and saluted her.

‘Hey Sophie,’ the two people sitting on the sofa chorused in perfect unison, both lifting their hands in identical economic waves, rather like a pair of spookily in-tandem twins, even down to their clothes’ similar muted shades of green and brown. Both were very thin, with sharp angular features and short cropped hair in an identical shade of mousey brown, although Ed had considerably more hair on his chin than on the top of his head. It was the sort of magnificent beard that you saw in adverts for trendy beer or featuring lumberjacks.

‘They make and supply all the bread for the bakery,’ explained Bella.

‘And the bagels,’ piped up the more feminine-looking one of the pair.

‘And the bread rolls,’ added the other.

‘Coffee?’ asked Bella. ‘Grab a seat. We were having a tasting. You can give me a second opinion.’ The coffee table had been cleared of its papers and in the centre was a large bread-board with several different loaves which had been sliced open.

‘That would be lovely, thanks.’ She sank into one of the armchairs.

‘Here.’ Ed immediately thrust a chunk of bread at her. ‘Try this. Honey and walnut.’

Edie huffed. ‘Not fair.’

‘She can try yours next,’ said Bella. ‘Honestly, they’re so competitive.’ She handed Sophie a rich, dark coffee.

Both Ed and Edie grinned. ‘But of course.’

‘By the way, Sophie is my new tenant upstairs. The one I was talking about. From London.’

‘Cool,’ said Ed, pointing his finger at the bread and urging Sophie to get a move on.

She took a bite of the still-warm bread. ‘Mmm, that is delicious.’

Ed gave his opposite number a smug nod. Sophie was still trying to work out the relationship between the pair when Edie leaned forward and kissed him on the nose. ‘She hasn’t tried mine yet, buster,’ she said as she cut a wedge from the nearest, very pale loaf. ‘Here, this one has a bit of subtlety about it.’ She shot Ed a superior look, tilting her nose in the air.

Sophie hurriedly bit into the crust, aware of the four pairs of eyes on her. This was clearly serious business.

‘Seeds,’ she looked at the bubbled, waxy interior of the bread, ‘chia seeds.’

Edie straightened and beamed. Sophie chewed, trying to get a handle on the familiar taste. ‘Yoghurt?’

‘I like her,’ said Edie to no one in particular. ‘It’s my cholesterol-busting bread. Chia seeds and yoghurt. See, these English people have got taste.’

‘They’re both lovely,’ said Sophie. The honey-and-walnut was much nicer but the shadowed, anxious looks from Bella and Wes suggested that the wrong words might start World War Three right there in the kitchen.

‘OK, sold,’ said Bella. ‘I’ll take a dozen of each next week.’

‘Great,’ said Edie, beaming. ‘Now break out the cupcakes, babe. I’m fed up with the healthy crap. Those chia seeds have played havoc with my system this week. And thanks for the vote, Sophie. So what brings you Stateside? Apart from proving that my bread tastes better.’

‘I told you, she’s hiding out after a bad break-up,’ announced Bella. ‘And she needs to get out more.’

Sophie opened her mouth to protest and narrowed her eyes.

‘You’ve been talking to Todd.’

‘Yeah, I spoke to him last night. He gave me a lecture about not keeping an eye out for you.’

‘Sorry. He shouldn’t have.’

‘Yes, he should. You’ve been here two weeks and not met anyone.’

‘That’s terrible. We can help,’ said Edie, bouncing slightly on the sofa. ‘We can introduce you to a few people in the neighbourhood.’

‘Yes!’ said Bella. ‘There’s Frank and Jim, they run the boutique across the street. They’re always good for a drink and they give great discount in the store.’

‘Oh yes, they have that really cute little guy who works on Saturdays,’ added Edie.

‘Little guy because he’s about sixteen,’ said Ed, poking her affectionately in the ribs as he turned to Sophie.

Edie ignored him. ‘Wes, you know the guys down the road that run the cycle store. We could introduce Sophie to them. They have the most delicious legs. Lovely calves. Steel thighs.’

‘Who’s talking about steel thighs?’ asked a dry voice, appearing in the doorway hidden behind a pile of cardboard pizza boxes.

‘Maisie! Just the person.’ Bella ran over and removed the pile of boxes from the plump arms of a very smiley, short woman. ‘You know loads of people.’

‘That’s because everyone is a sucker for her cheesecakes,’ rumbled Wes, taking the boxes from Bella and sniffing appreciatively. ‘Mmm, they smell good.’

‘Cinnamon and caramel, a new recipe. And a couple of strawberry and chocolate cheesecakes.’

‘Mmm, I love your chocolate cheesecake. Remind me, Ed, to grab a couple of slices when we leave. I need to keep my strength up. I’ve got a dozen loaves to knead this afternoon.’

‘Am I too late for a coffee?’ asked Maisie. ‘I’ve got a twenty-minute window before Carl divorces me for abandoning the twins with him.’ Somehow she’d crossed the room and had wedged her ample bottom into the armchair, her eyes dancing as if she were bursting with happy secrets. ‘And why do you need loads of people?’

‘Maisie, this is Sophie.’ Bella grabbed a mug from the dresser and filled it from the half-full cafetière on the side. ‘She’s taken the apartment upstairs and doesn’t know a soul in New York – well, apart from us. Oh and Todd, but he doesn’t count.’

Maisie laughed, taking the coffee. ‘Well Sophie, you’ve landed in the right place. Bella’s Bakery is the place to meet at this end of Smith Street. We can introduce you to plenty of people.’

‘And she’s a foodie,’ said Bella. ‘She writes for CityZen.’

‘And she likes my chia-and-yoghurt bread.’ Edie held a piece out towards Maisie, who pulled a face.

‘I guess someone has to,’ teased Maisie, pushing it away as Edie laughed good-naturedly. ‘Although if you’re interested in food … has anyone tried the new Mezze place? Hummus to die for. Although the twins made it interesting. You ever tried removing a pomegranate seed from a five-year-old’s ear? A family adventure, I can tell you.’

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