Alice-Miranda In New York 5 (4 page)

A
lice-Miranda and her parents spent the rest of the afternoon sailing remote-controlled boats in the inaugural Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones family regatta. In the end Hugh managed to beat his daughter, taking out the championship by just half a boat length. Cecelia told him off for being so competitive but Alice-Miranda said that she didn't mind a bit. Her father had better skills and that was that.

As the late afternoon sun slanted through the trees and warmed Alice-Miranda's face, she told her mother and father that she couldn't have imagined a
more perfect day. Hand in hand the family walked out of the park and back across Fifth Avenue to their temporary home, where they found Mrs Oliver midway through making dinner.

‘That smells delicious.' Alice-Miranda sped through the hallway to the kitchen.

‘Yes, it does, if I might say so myself,' Mrs Oliver replied. ‘How was your day?'

Alice-Miranda pulled over a stool, and used it to climb up onto the end of the kitchen bench. She sat with her legs dangling in the air as she told Mrs Oliver every last detail.

‘Saints preserve us, slow down and take a breath, young lady,' Mrs Oliver tutted. ‘From all that, I'd say you've already befriended half of New York City.'

‘Oh no, Mrs Oliver, that's just silly. There are over a million people in Manhattan alone and I only met about twenty of them today.' Alice-Miranda stared up at her.

Dolly Oliver shook her head and smiled. ‘But if I know you, at the end of four weeks that won't be the case.'

Alice-Miranda offered to set the table for dinner. Dolly had spent the afternoon perfecting a huge pork loin with the crispiest of crackling, baked potatoes
and honey-glazed carrots, sautéed green beans with slivered almonds and a homemade apple sauce to top it all off.

For dessert there was chocolate pudding with praline ice-cream.

‘That's an awful lot of food just for us,' Alice-Miranda remarked as she busied herself finding cutlery and carrying it through to the dining room next door.

‘Your mother invited Mr Gruber to dinner,' Dolly replied, as she stirred the thick brown gravy on the stovetop.

Alice-Miranda dashed back to the kitchen to locate the salt and pepper pots. She pulled a pair of crystal shakers with shining silver tops from the sideboard and grabbed an extra knife, fork and spoon while she was there.

‘Thank you, darling girl,' said Mrs Oliver to her young assistant. ‘Now, why don't you run along and have a bath and pop one of your pretty dresses on.'

‘That sounds like a very good idea,' Cecelia Highton-Smith agreed as she entered the room, fresh from the shower herself.

‘You smell delicious, Mummy,' her little daughter
remarked.

‘Thank you, darling.'

Cecelia Highton-Smith wore a smart pair of white trousers and a lovely deep-aqua silk blouse. Her patent aqua pumps were perfectly matched.

Dolly Oliver glanced at Cecelia as she pulled the potatoes from the oven. ‘That's a great colour on you, ma'am.'

‘Thank you, Dolly. I rather like it too. Is there anything I can do to help?'

‘No, it's all under control. Alice-Miranda set the table and the dinner's almost done,' Mrs Oliver replied.

Cecelia busied herself locating a bottle of champagne from the wine cooler in the walk-in pantry. Being fourteen floors up, it was a little tricky to have a cellar attached to the penthouse; instead, Cecelia's great-grandfather had included a very large walk-in butler's pantry off the kitchen. The recent renovations had included the installation of a wine fridge and climate-controlled ‘cellar' for the reds.

A plate of smoked salmon and chive crème fraîche blini and another of the tiniest roast vegetable tarts were transported by Mrs Oliver to the sitting room where the family would gather before
the main meal.

‘Now Dolly, can you join us for a drink before dinner?' Cecelia asked as Mrs Oliver walked back into the kitchen having delivered the trays.

‘Why not?' the old woman grinned. ‘Everything's under control in here and I just have to serve up when we're ready. So long as you don't mind, ma'am?' Mrs Oliver enquired.

‘Oh Dolly, you're family. And it will be lovely to catch up with Gilbert and find out what on earth has been happening here,' Cecelia put her hand gently on Mrs Oliver's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

‘Don't go worrying yourself about the store.' Dolly reached over and patted the younger woman's hand. ‘Cecelia, if I may say, dear, you are the most organised person I've ever met. You could run a country, never mind just the Highton's empire. In fact, if I think about it, Highton's and all its staff around the world probably are equivalent to a small country.'

‘Thank you, Dolly,' Cecelia smiled. ‘You always know just the right thing to say.'

Dolly winked at Cecelia. ‘I learned that from the little one.'

At exactly 7 pm the buzzer rang, signifying the
imminent arrival of Gilbert Gruber. Alice-Miranda, in a pretty white dress tied in the middle with a large lemon bow, ran to the hallway to greet their guest. The elevator bell chimed and the doors slipped open. Mr Gruber barely had time to exit the compartment before the tiny child rushed forward.

He bent down and Alice-Miranda pecked him on the cheek.

‘Don't you look gorgeous, young lady,' Gilbert admired. With a pirouette of his right index finger, Alice-Miranda twirled like a ballerina. ‘You're getting taller, my dear. I'm sure that you've grown at least an inch since last I saw you.'

‘Well, that's silly,' Alice-Miranda giggled. ‘I only saw you last night. I couldn't possibly have grown an inch.'

‘Oh, you cheeky little thing – I meant since I saw you at Christmas at the Hall,' Gilbert replied. ‘But your mother is always sending photographs and news about your exploits. I hear you've made quite an impression on that school of yours.'

‘I love it!' Alice-Miranda beamed. ‘It's beautiful and I have the most wonderful friends and the teachers are so clever.'

‘It must be taking quite a deal of courage to
come here and try a new school, even if it is just for a month or so?' Gilbert Gruber leaned down to meet Alice-Miranda's gaze.

‘Oh no, not at all. I can't wait to start tomorrow. And besides, it's not as if I don't know anyone. I mean, the headmistress is one of Mummy's best friends. I'll miss everyone at home but it's not permanent and really there aren't too many girls who have the opportunity to try out school in another country.'

Gilbert Gruber smiled at this child with her cascading chocolate curls and eyes as big as saucers. He'd known her mother and aunt since they were small girls too, but he couldn't help marvelling that Alice-Miranda seemed to have inherited the elegance of her mother with the no-nonsense, loving heart of her aunt.

‘That's a very handsome tie, Mr Gruber,' said Alice-Miranda, admiring the old man's green polka dot bow tie. Bow ties were his signature look and she couldn't remember a time when he wasn't wearing one.

‘Thank you, dear. I rather like this one. And I have something for you.' Gilbert passed Alice-Miranda a beautifully wrapped parcel. ‘And I thought your mother might like these.' In his other hand was a
stunning bouquet of roses.

‘Thank you. May I open it later? I want to share the surprise with everyone.'

‘Of course you may,' Gilbert Gruber replied. ‘All right, lead the way.'

Alice-Miranda took him by his free hand and together they walked down the hallway to the sitting room.

‘Gilbert, darling, how are you?' Cecelia Highton-Smith walked through from the dining room just as the pair arrived.

‘These are for you. Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady,' Gilbert winked. Cecelia leaned forward and kissed the old man on both cheeks.

‘You know you don't have to bring gifts,' she frowned. ‘But they are stunning. And if I didn't know better I'd say that they're an apple blossom pink hybrid tea rose called Audrey Hepburn.'

‘I'm impressed. You certainly know your roses, Cecelia,' Gilbert smiled.

‘Thank you, Gil, but I've cheated a bit. That's the variety I was planning to fill the ground floor with for the opening,' Cecelia replied.

‘Oh Mummy, that will be heavenly,' Alice-
Miranda said.

Hugh Kennington-Jones entered the room from the hallway. ‘Ah, there you are, Gil, I thought I heard the elevator. How are you?' He strode forward and the two men shook hands.

‘All the better for seeing this one,' said Gilbert, glancing down at Alice-Miranda.

‘Well, she's kept her mother and me on our toes today,' Hugh smiled.

‘You'll have to tell me what you got up to over dinner,' Gilbert invited.

‘Be warned, Mr Gruber, once she gets started you'll be hard pressed to stop her,' Mrs Oliver added as she joined the group.

‘Hello Dolly, lovely to see you.' Gilbert kissed Mrs Oliver on the cheek.

‘And you too, Gilbert. You must be relieved that the renovations are almost complete,' Mrs Oliver commented.

‘Absolutely. This has been the longest six months of my life and the staff are very keen to get the doors open again.'

The unmistakable sound of a popping champagne cork got everyone's attention.

Hugh Kennington-Jones poured four flutes and
filled another with pineapple juice from the small bar cabinet in the corner of the room. Cecelia delivered the drinks to Gilbert, Dolly and Alice-Miranda.

Hugh proposed the toast: ‘Here's to a wonderful reopening and a fantastic time in New York!'

‘Hear, hear,' the rest of the group chorused.

A
lice-Miranda slept well, exhausted after her big day out in the park. But she had set her alarm for 6.30 am and still managed to wake before it began to beep. There were a few butterflies teasing her tummy.

Her mother appeared at the door just as she was sitting up in bed.

‘Goodness, you're up early. I thought I'd have to wake you.'

‘Oh no, Mummy. I'm far too excited,' Alice-Miranda slipped out of bed and scampered over to
her walk-in closet where she retrieved a plaid skirt, white shirt and lilac blazer. She hung the clothes on the handle of the armoire. ‘Are you taking me to school, Mummy?'

‘Of course, darling, I wouldn't miss it. And I'm going to have tea with Jilly while you're getting settled,' her mother replied, while she took Alice-Miranda's school shoes from the closet.

Alice-Miranda was ready in no time. She packed her brown leather satchel with her pencil case and the lovely notebook that had been her gift from Mr Gruber. The notebook was covered with a silk-screened Japanese design of brilliant pink cherry blossoms interwoven with gold and green. Alice-Miranda thought it was beautiful.

During the evening Mr Gruber had told them of some of the challenges he'd faced with the renovation. There had been some truly odd difficulties, including the Finkelstein's Parade being given permission to divert down Fifth Avenue the very same day they had the enormous crane in place to lift several art installations up to the sixth floor home wares department. Strangely, a number of their stock deliveries had gone missing too, only to be located at the Finkelstein's dock several days later. And now
some of their key suppliers seemed jittery about committing to exclusive contracts. The project was running two weeks behind schedule, with some odd requests from the planners at City Hall. Cecelia said that it was all just an unfortunate coincidence until Mr Gruber revealed that he had received an invitation at the end of last week to the Finkelsteins' opening of their Grand Salon, which was on the very same day as the gala re-launch of Highton's.

Cee decided that she would phone Morrie Finkelstein and see if they could meet for a coffee. Obviously there was something going on. Morrie was never easy to deal with but this was pushing the boundaries even for him.

Mr Gruber's stories gave Alice-Miranda a strange feeling but this morning she didn't want to think about that at all.

In the kitchen Mrs Oliver had prepared Alice-Miranda's favourite: French toast. Her mother and father joined her for breakfast.

‘Oh, look at you, young lady,' said Hugh, glancing up from the paper. ‘I like the plaid.'

‘It's lovely, isn't it?' Alice-Miranda replied. ‘But it's nowhere near as formal as my uniform at home. And the girls in middle school wear the skirt with
whatever blouse they like, and then in the senior years there's no uniform at all.'

‘Well, I suppose the school is encouraging girls to be individual – or at the very least more comfortable,' her mother added.

Cecelia poured a weak milky tea for her daughter and a much stronger brew for herself.

Alice-Miranda had worked out the night before that they should leave the apartment at 7.45 am to walk the ten blocks to school to be there in time for the start of class. Her mother had suggested they take the car but Alice-Miranda thought that was silly. It wasn't far and besides, her mother could have Mr O'Leary pick her up later if she wanted.

So, at precisely 7.40 am, having kissed her father and Mrs Oliver goodbye, Alice-Miranda and her mother stood in front of the lift. Five minutes later they were on Fifth Avenue making their way further uptown.

The streets were alive with the almost constant beeping of horns from the black and yellow vehicles. Several yellow school buses added to the tapestry of morning traffic and Alice-Miranda tingled with the excitement of it all.

‘Do you know, Mummy, I don't think there's
anywhere in the world like New York.' Alice-Miranda looked up at her mother and smiled.

‘I think you're right about that, darling. I've always loved the city, ever since your grandmother and grandfather brought me here when I was little. It reminds me of a giant, and the streets and traffic are the blood running through its veins.' Cecelia's eyes sparkled.

‘Oh, that's exactly what it's like,' Alice-Miranda agreed.

Mother and daughter trotted along in the morning sunshine, past the mansions and apartment buildings opposite Central Park and the magnificent Frick Collection in its grand old building. Cecelia decided they should head towards Madison Avenue as there was more to see and then turn right into East 75th
Street.

‘Look at that!' Alice-Miranda stopped to admire thousands of pink roses, which were providing the backdrop to some high fashion in the windows of Finkelstein's.

‘They're beautiful –' Cecelia drew in a sharp breath. She peered in closer. ‘And I think they're the very same roses I was planning to use to decorate Highton's for the reopening.'

‘I'm sure the Finkelsteins won't mind if you use the same roses,' Alice-Miranda replied.

‘I think they might,' Cecelia sighed. ‘Morrie Finkelstein has never been our greatest fan. In fact, I'd say openly hostile has been his mode of operation ever since I've known him.'

‘But why?' Alice-Miranda asked, wide-eyed.

‘I don't really know, darling, although I've heard whispers of a long-standing grudge. Something to do with when the stores were first established in the 1920s. Apparently, Great-Grandpa Highton and Morrie's great-grandfather were the best of friends and they were all set to go into business together but something happened and the deal soured at the last minute. They both went it alone. From the day the Finkelsteins opened their store they declared war on Highton's and it's been that way ever since. I don't understand it at all. We've both got beautiful stores that make handsome profits – it's just a nonsense.'

‘But Mummy, have you ever asked Mr Finkelstein what the problem is? Maybe it could be solved and you could be friends,' Alice-Miranda suggested.

‘Oh darling, I've tried to extend an olive branch to that man on many occasions. In the early days, when your grandfather was still in charge and
Morrie's father Joseph was running Finkelstein's, your father and I were determined that the next generation would get past whatever the problem was. So we invited Morrie and his wife Gerda to dinner, we had them over to the apartment for drinks, I wrote notes to congratulate Morrie whenever he did something fabulous at Finkelstein's. In fact, I still do. My father told me I was wasting my time and that the Finkelsteins would hate the Hightons forever – it was just a fact of life. Like breathing. But I wanted to prove your grandfather wrong.'

‘And did you?' Alice-Miranda asked.

‘Apparently not. Look, Morrie Finkelstein can be charming and Gerda's lovely – apart from her voice, it's a little on the high side – but just when I think things are fine between us, he does something nasty to put me back in my place. No matter how many times I ask him to explain what the problem is, he just says, “Cecelia, you know what your family has done.” And really, I have no idea – and neither does your grandmother. We've even hired someone to look into it for us and they said that all of Morrie's great-grandfather's personal effects were destroyed in a fire that devastated their store back in the thirties and there didn't seem to be anything
in Great-Grandpa Horace's things that gave us any leads either.'

‘Oh well,' Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Perhaps one day Mr Finkelstein will want to be friends.'

‘You are an optimist, sweetheart.' Cecelia tightened her grip on Alice-Miranda's hand and they crossed into East 75th Street.

‘Well, here we are,' Cecelia pointed towards an inconspicuous brownstone building across the street. In small brass letters on the wall, a sign said:
Mrs Kimmel's School for Girls
.

A yellow school bus pulled up and out tramped a long line of girls, some wearing plaid skirts in lilac and blue with white shirts and navy blazers, and others in an array of casual clothes. A cacophony of chatter accompanied the students as they jostled into school. Alice-Miranda studied the group from behind. She couldn't wait to meet them all. A tall girl with blonde hair parted perfectly in the middle and tied up in matching pigtails with lilac bows was talking intently to a smaller child beside her. The body language indicated that the shorter girl had done something that displeased the taller one. There were lots of hand signals and inflated gestures and raised voices. Alice-Miranda thought for a moment
that her actions looked familiar, but she dismissed the notion from her mind.

Alice-Miranda and her mother waited on the other side of the street until the girls disappeared through the doorway.

‘Come along, darling. Let's go and see Jilly,' said Cecelia Highton-Smith as she led her daughter across the road.