Katy Carter Keeps a Secret (34 page)

I feel as though I’ve been anaesthetised.

While Frankie deals with the reservation and collects my keys, I check my phone for the millionth time – and my heart shrivels a little more when I see that there are no missed calls or texts. Why isn’t Ollie calling me back? Has Carolyn told him what I suspected and he’s upset? Maybe he’s had enough of all my dramas?

I start to gnaw my thumbnail and Frankie gently pulls my hand away from my mouth.

“I’m going to buy you a set of acrylics,” he says sternly. “New Yorkers don’t nibble their nails!”

“Ollie still hasn’t called,” I explain sadly as we ride upwards. “Oh, Frankie, I’ve made such a mess of everything. What on earth am I going to do?”

“Party hard,” he says firmly. “You haven’t come this far to be miserable, angel – and besides, he’s probably just busy.”

“Too busy to make a call?”

Frankie shrugs. “You said it yourself: school trips are hectic. Come on, sweetie! Lighten up. You’re here to have fun! Stop moping about Ollie. He’ll be in touch. He’s probably flat out with the kids.”

He’s right. Of course he is. It’s just that I’ve got the strangest feeling that something isn’t quite adding up. Anyway, Frankie might be a bit more supportive than this. After all, he’d have me roaming the streets with search and rescue dogs and sticking pictures onto milk cartons if so much as twenty minutes went by without Gabe ringing him.

I’d have expected a little more sympathy from my friends, but evidently none of them are that interested in my problems. Take Frankie right now, for instance, checking his Rolex and itching to get away. No, my friends have made it very clear that they’ve all got far more important things to do than listen to me bleating on. As I follow Frankie’s jumpsuited back along a sumptuous corridor, I feel very let down.

“Here we are! Your suite!” Frankie unlocks my room and throws the door wide open. “Isn’t it incredible! O— err, I chose this one especially because of the view of Park Avenue.”

The room is gorgeous and as ornate as anything Louis XIV could have come up with. It’s crimson and gold and full of heavy wooden furniture, plus a massive bed piled high with plump cushions. At the far end is a bathroom with  an enormous bath and a champagne bucket next to it and just crying out to be dived into. Windows stretch from floor to ceiling too, framed with velvet curtains held back with golden rope as thick as my arms, while beyond the glass the Big Apple stretches out as far as the eye can see, a constantly shifting sea of cars and humanity and bright blue sky. I can even see the Empire State Building looming out of the city skyline.

Frankie’s right. It
is
incredible and everything that a luxury hotel room ought to be. I should be brimming with excitement and bounding around shrieking. But I’m not, am I? In fact, I feel dangerously tearful because what’s the point of this fabulous room if I’m not sharing it with Ollie? The big bed, the huge bath and the cooling champagne aren’t any fun on their own.

I wander across to the window and press my forehead against the cold glass. I don’t want to be here without Ollie. I don’t want to be
anywhere
without Ollie.

“I have to shoot and do party stuff,” Frankie is saying. “The concierge will send your luggage up – and do not forget to tip him! This is America, remember?” He peels some dollars from his wallet and lays them carefully on the gleaming dressing table. “Now, a car’s booked to pick you up at seven, so make sure you’re in the lobby and dressed to kill. Have a bath, put your glad rags on and prepare to party!”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt less like partying in my life but I nod dutifully. After all, Frankie’s flown me here and paid for me to stay in this amazing hotel, so the least I can do is put on a brave face and go to his anniversary party.

Once he’s gone (very fast actually, and I’m sure he was on his phone the minute he left my room, telling somebody in a very loud whisper, “The eagle has landed!”, but that’s probably just jet lag again), I hurl myself onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, all intricate plaster swirls and flowers like a beautifully iced wedding cake, and take a few deep breaths.

Breathe calmness in and stress out, Katy, just like in that yoga DVD you watched once. In and out, in and out. See. This stuff really works! Ollie was wrong. You didn’t actually need to do the routine at all; the introduction was more than enough to get the gist. You didn’t waste your money.

And anyway, that DVD was really useful as a coaster…

I can do this. It’s one party and one night. That’s all. Then I can go home to Cornwall, tell Throb
to do their worst, and finally make things right with Ollie.

At least I hope I can…

By the time my bath has run I’m feeling a little less stressed – which probably has more to do with a glass of the champagne than the breathing techniques – and I’m ready to start my unpacking. I’ve tipped the bellboy who delivered my case and then busied myself organising my belongings and pulling out my trusty little black dress. I’m just deciding whether or not to wedge it in the trouser press to get rid of all the creases when there’s a rap of knuckles on the door. Who now?

“Delivery for you, ma’am,” announces an enormous box when I open up and peek into the corridor.

A talking box. What on earth? How much champagne did I just drink?

“For me?” I’m confused. Who’d be sending me presents here?

The box wiggles and a liveried bellboy peeps around one side of it. “Miss Carter? This is for you.”

I can’t deny it. That’s me.

Perplexed, I step aside and allow him to deposit the huge box onto the bed. Then he hovers a bit before I twig that I ought to give him a tip. Unfortunately, I’ve given Frankie’s dollars to the last bellboy and all I have is a tatty promo copy of
Kitchen
, but once I’ve autographed it he assures me this will be worth way more on eBay than a few dollars anyway. In fact he seems thrilled.

My books are a whole new currency. Whoever would have thought?

But anyway, never mind the books. What’s this? The box is white and elegantly wrapped with sleek black ribbons, beneath which someone has tucked a crisp white card.

For a very special writer. Wear me!

Wear me?

Intrigued, I tug the end of the ribbon and lift off the lid. White tissue paper rustles as my fingertips delve beneath and reveal a dress. As I shake it my eyes are wide because it’s possibly the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. There’s a white bodice covered in thousands of tiny glittering beads, sparkling spaghetti straps to match, and the most amazing full ballerina skirt made of layers and layers of shimmering net.

Oh my goodness! It’s a Carrie Bradshaw style tutu dress, the kind I
always
imagined wearing in New York and definitely the sort of dress I would never in a million years buy. The fabric slips through my hands like liquid and the stitches are so fine that I can’t even see them. The bodice is boned and the straps are surprisingly strong too. Wow. A dress like this must have cost a fortune.

I hold it up against me and twirl in front of the mirror, feeling like Cinderella. Frankie must have sent it over for me to wear this evening. What a kind thing to do!

Sorry, little black dress, old friend, but I think you may be staying in tonight.

There are shoes in the box as well, glittery strappy shoes with tiny heels and so delicate that I’m almost afraid to pick them up. Goodness, isn’t Frankie clever? He even knows my dress and shoe sizes. And there’s a floaty silver wrap too, which drifts across my shoulders like gossamer. This outfit is exactly what I’d have chosen for myself and I had no idea Frankie knew me so well. I feel a bit guilty now for thinking he’s self-absorbed and shallow. I guess he must have very hidden depths.

There’s something about a new dress that lifts a girl’s spirits, and even though I haven’t got Tansy-style control pants on, I feel a million dollars as I walk through the lobby channelling my inner Sarah Jessica Parker. I’ve left my hair loose tonight and I’m wearing hardly any make-up because the dress does it all! It’s a perfect fit and as the car Frankie’s sent sweeps away from the hotel, round a couple of corners and along Madison Avenue I really do feel as though I’m Cinderella on her way to the ball.

I only wish my handsome prince was going to be there.

Chapter 29

Thinking about how much I’m missing Ollie brings a sharp stab of pain that no dress, shoes or New York adventure can ease. As the car glides through the evening city I watch couples walking hand in hand along the sidewalk and my throat feels all tight and strange. I check my phone again just in case he’s been in touch but there are still no missed calls or texts. I try his number too but there’s no answer, just endless ringing. I suppose Ollie must be asleep by now and I’ll have to try again tomorrow.

I gaze out of the car window. This is a bit odd. We’re heading through Manhattan and out across the Brooklyn Bridge. Are we going the right way? The journey seems to be taking an awfully long time, and don’t Frankie and Gabriel rent an apartment off Central Park? Where is this party being held exactly? I assumed it would be at their place but maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps Frankie and Gabe have far too many guests to fit into a flat? I bet that’s it. Movie stars and musicians must know everyone. You’d never fit them all in. Frankie must have mentioned the venue but I’ve been so worried about Ollie I probably wasn’t paying attention – and after everything I’ve said to my students about listening skills, too!

The sun’s lower in the sky now and shadows are starting to slip across the freeway. By the time the car slows the clouds are blushed pink and the Hudson’s melting into a pool of gold. It’s an urban landscape for sure but breathtakingly beautiful in its own right.

The sort of place you should be with somebody special…

“Here we are, Miss,” says the driver over his shoulder as the car eventually comes to a halt.

“Here?” I look around, puzzled. Is this where Gabriel and Frankie are holding their party? We’re right down on the water. Look! There’s the aquarium!

“Are you sure?” I ask. Have Frankie and Gabriel really hired the aquarium for a party?

“If you’d just make your way inside, ma’am,” the driver says politely.

I slide out of the car and into the cool evening air, pulling my wrap around me and feeling confused. What an odd choice of venue. It seems ever so quiet and I’d have expected that all the A-list guests would be sweeping up in big shiny cars and posing for photos before waltzing up a red carpet, or something of the sort. Instead, the place looks absolutely deserted.

Moving very slowly in my gorgeous but hopelessly impractical sandals, I wobble my way up the steps and into the building. It looks closed but when I push the door it swings open easily and I spot a big sign reading
PARTY
. Closer investigation reveals an arrow pointing down the corridor, and attached to this is a piece of string that peels away into the dark depths of the building. OK. I’m in the right place so all I need to do is follow the directions. But where is everyone? Where are all the guests? Never mind spotting a stray Kardashian; I can’t even see the aquarium staff.

“Hello?” I call. “Is anyone about?”

But there’s no answer. There’s not even a cleaner wandering past, or anyone else I can ask. So I dither for moment, wondering what to do. This is so weird. Has my jet lag got to me? Have I got the right day or am I early? No, I can’t be. Frankie definitely said to leave at seven and the car was on time too, so I can’t have got that wrong. Strange as this is I am in the right place. I guess I just need to follow that string and see what’s going on. Maybe the party’s in a room underneath the tank. Yes! I bet that’s it! Gabe and Frankie would love to have a party with sharks and stingrays swimming overhead. That’s so them.

Feeling certain that this is what’s going on, I follow a series of signs and what seems like miles of string through a maze of empty corridors, zigzagging ever deeper into the building. It’s dark and quiet, like I’d imagine a zombie apocalypse to be (but set in an aquarium). The air’s humid and moist and thick with that odd fishy wet scent and I can’t go any further surely? Firstly, my feet are killing me and, secondly, if I go much deeper I’ll end up in the river.

There’s a door ahead of me and the string passes beneath it. There’s nowhere left to go except through it. Maybe the party’s on the other side?

Hold on. Isn’t this where I came before? Back when Guy was filming? It is! This is where Pinchy lives!

Frankie’s holding his big anniversary party next to the lobster tanks? That’s a bit strange even for him. It’s hardly a blinging location and I’m not sure the A-listers will be impressed.

Intrigued, I place my palms on the door and push, stumbling into a dimly lit room. Tanks bubble and my heels tap on the floor, but apart from that all is silent.

The place is deserted.

I’m the only guest in the room. Or maybe I should more accurately say, I’m the only
human
guest in the room.

This is so odd and getting odder by the second. Another note is taped to the floor.
Follow me
, it reads, and below this note is
yet more string leading across the tiled floor to a large tank – the very same tank where Pinchy now lives in five-star lobster luxury.

I’m at a party where the only other guest is a lobster?

Oh. I get it. I must be dreaming. I’ve conked out from jet lag and champagne. My brain makes up some crazy stuff, that’s for sure. Still, best go with it. The old subconscious is probably working something through, although I dread to think what. Freud would have a field day wading through this lot.

“What’s going on, Pinchy?” I ask the lobster, who stares back at me with his usual black-eyed disdain. “Where’s everybody else? Where are all the other guests?”

“All the guests are right here,” replies a voice. “And the one who isn’t in the tank looks absolutely beautiful.”

My heart leaps. I
must
be dreaming, still lying on the bed in the hotel and most likely dribbling too. That’s the only explanation because how else could Ollie possibly be stepping from the shadows and walking towards me? He’s in France!