Manolos in Manhattan (4 page)

Chapter Five

Natalie leaned her head back against the Jaguar’s headrest, pleasantly relaxed as Rhys drove them to their apartment with the painting of her father safely stowed in the back seat.

“I wish we could’ve stayed at the Plaza,” she said wistfully as they left Greenwich Village. “Like Eloise.”

Rhys turned the car onto Third Avenue. “You know we have to keep expenses down, Natalie. The stores aren’t fully recovered yet.”

“I know,” she grumbled. “Such a bother. I’m longing to splash out on a few more baby things and some chic maternity outfits...but I haven’t. I’ve been very restrained.”

“Right,” he agreed, his voice dry, “restrained, if you don’t count the roomful of stuffed animals from FAO, enough onesies and jim-jams and nappies to stock a baby store, or that ridiculous pram you insisted on buying—”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she protested. “It’s a Silver Cross Balmoral, meticulously handcrafted in Yorkshire.”

“Natalie ‒ it costs $3,000! For a bloody
pram
.”

“Well, yes, because it has a C-spring suspension for a smooth and unrivalled ride.”

“Which is all very well and good,” he retorted, “if one’s buying an Aston Martin ‒
not
a pram.”

“And the lady at the store said I might exchange the navy-and-white model for a pink-and-white model if we have a girl,” Natalie went on. “
So
nice of her, don’t you think?”

“I think for $3,000, she ought to give you a different model pram for every day of the week and throw in a nanny and free nappies for good measure.”

“Oh, Rhys, honestly. Don’t you want our baby to have the best?”

He turned onto East 47th Street and glanced over at her. “Of course I do. I just don’t want you to bankrupt us in the process.” He reached out his free hand and laid it atop hers. “We’re nearly there.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“Detouring to the apartment on our way home to deliver the painting.”

“Not at all. I wanted to stop and check that the security system’s on in our apartment anyway. I told the movers to activate it, but I want to be sure. I also thought,” he added as he slowed the car, “that we could have a look at our new home for the next few months before we officially move in tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to have a place of our own here in Manhattan. Although,” Natalie added, “I’ll really miss room service, and those lovely chocs they put on our pillows every night.”

“Sir Richard thought it made sense to keep a place near the store, where I can stay whenever I’m here on business. Now that Alastair’s bought that townhouse in Gramercy Park, I doubt he’ll ever use the apartment.”

He brought the Jaguar to a stop in front of an impressive building. The Dunleigh was located on the Upper West Side, just across from Central Park and a stone’s throw from the Dakota. As they got out of the car and Rhys gave instructions to the valet, Natalie glanced up at the imposing turn-of-the-century building.

Stone griffins and winged cherubs cavorted around the perimeter of the Mansard roof; a uniformed doorman stood guard at the canopied entrance. It looked like something out of
Rosemary’s Baby
.

“Well, what do you think so far?” Rhys inquired as he tucked the portrait carefully under his arm and escorted her inside.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s all a bit...scary looking, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Wait till you see the apartment.”

“Right,” she murmured, and gripped her husband’s arm as she took in the marble-floored lobby with its potted palms and elaborate Victorian staircase. “It’s lovely.”
Lovely,
she thought,
if you were the Addams Family, or a guest at the Overlook Hotel.

The concierge behind the counter to the left smiled at them and nodded imperceptibly. “Good evening, Mr and Mrs Gordon.”

Rhys nodded. “Good evening. We’re just going up to check that the security system is armed.”

“Very good. Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

As she and Rhys made their way across the lobby to the lift, Natalie frowned. “That was a bit odd, don’t you think? How did he know who we were?”

“It’s his job to know who we are. I’ve been in and out of here enough that the staff all know me by name.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at the tenth floor and proceeded down a long, thickly carpeted hallway.

“Here we are. Number 1010.” He inserted the key and swung the old-fashioned panel door open, then stood back to let her through. “Welcome to the Dunleigh, darling.”

Natalie brushed past him and stepped inside. She was beyond curious to see the apartment they’d be calling home for the next few months. As Rhys switched on a lamp on the table by the front door, she made her way down the hallway and let out a soft gasp as she rounded the corner into the living room.

Plush white carpeting cushioned her feet as she came to a stop, transfixed by the tenth-story view of Central Park.

Nothing – not her aching feet, or her tiredness, or the distant honking of horns on 72nd Street below, even at this hour - could mar the perfection of the night-time panorama before her.

“Oh, Rhys – it’s gorgeous,” she breathed as he joined her.

In the darkened room she glimpsed sofas upholstered in white, flanking a fireplace of dark-brown marble veined with black. Although the furnishings were modern, the high ceilings and paneled walls lent the apartment a distinctly old-world feel.

And the night-time view of Central Park was spectacular.

“I’m glad you like it,” Rhys said as he set the painting down near the sofa and tossed his keys aside. “The Dunleigh’s almost as hard to get into as the Dakota.” He frowned. “It’s a good job we stopped by. The alarm wasn’t armed. Bloody movers.”

Natalie barely heard him as she tipped her head back to admire the high, elaborately molded ceilings. “How many rooms are there?” she asked as she stood, rapt, before the window.

“Ten. There’s a master suite, two guest bedrooms, living and dining rooms, a study, the kitchen, and three bathrooms.”

“My word,” Natalie murmured. “Dashwood and James must be doing better than I thought.”

“We’re getting there. Once we launch the New York store,” he said, “we plan to expand further – Miami, Los Angeles…”

“Ooh, can I go with you?” Natalie implored as she slid her arms around his neck.

“Of course you can.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. “But I won’t get a thing done with you around.”

“That’s the whole idea,” she said, and kissed him back. “I’ll have my wicked way with you in every major city in America before I’m done.”

He raised his brow. “Well, at least we needn’t worry about getting you pregnant – since I already have.”

She smirked. “Well done, you.”

“I’ve an idea,” he said, his lips moving from her mouth to the column of her neck. “Let’s christen our new home.”

“Right here?” she whispered, feigning shock. “In the dark, in front of all of Manhattan?”

Rhys was too busy leaving fiery kisses on her throat and along the slope of her bare shoulders to answer, and he pushed impatiently at the thin straps that held up her gown.

“Yes.” He undid her zipper. “Right here. Right this very minute.”

Natalie let out a soft gasp as his lips moved down to the swell of her breasts, sending shivers of pleasure through her, and she sank down onto the carpet in his arms.

“If you insist,” she whispered, and dragged his mouth back up to hers.

Sometime later, as they lay naked and spent from their wanton but delicious exertions, Natalie stirred and woke with a start. They’d both fallen asleep.

She yawned and reached out sleepily to shake Rhys’s shoulder to wake him and tell him they really ought to be going when she heard a sound in the darkness.

A floorboard creaked.

Natalie froze. What was that? Was someone else in the apartment? But that was impossible. Her hand tensed on Rhys’s arm, and she scarcely dared to breathe.

She waited, but the sound wasn’t repeated. Had she imagined it? After all, these old buildings creaked and settled and made all manner of odd noises. That’s what Rhys would say, at any rate.

She was just about to wake him to tell him she wanted to leave straightaway and never, ever come back, when she heard it again. Another floorboard creaked, this time a bit closer.

Natalie bit back a gasp. No. She definitely hadn’t imagined it.

Someone – or some
thing
– was in the apartment.

Chapter Six

But that was surely madness, wasn’t it? she thought uneasily. After all ‒ how could anyone possibly be in the apartment but them? The Dunleigh was secure; it was one of the reasons Grandfather had chosen the cooperative. And Rhys had told her the front desk in the lobby was manned round the clock.

Which meant that whoever – no, scratch that,
what
ever – was standing nearby might not be human.

As if aware of Natalie’s growing disquietude, the darkness beyond her solidified and materialized into a figure...

...a figure holding a gun.

Natalie dug her nails into Rhys’s arm and let out an earsplitting shriek.

He flew up, disoriented and wild-eyed. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“An intruder,” she gasped as she sat up and scrabbled desperately to find her discarded gown. “Call the police!”

Immediately Rhys got to his feet and grabbed his trousers.

“Shall I turn on a light?” Nat whispered, terrified.

“No. I haven’t a bloody stitch on and I’m standing in front of the bloody window!” he hissed. He yanked his trousers on and moved forward.

She stood and caught at his arm. “Rhys – wait. Where are you going? He has a gun!”

But he didn’t listen, only shook her arm off and made his way determinedly to the front hall. Since she wasn’t about to leave his side, Natalie darted after him, her heart thrumming madly, her evening gown clutched against her chest.

The lamp on the hall table was still on. They crept cautiously forward. “Is anyone here?” Rhys demanded. “Show yourself!”

But the only answer was silence.

Although they checked each and every room – and Natalie looked under every bed and in every closet, as well – there was no one in the apartment and no sign of forced entry.

“They must’ve got away,” Natalie said with equal parts frustration and relief, “while I was screaming and you were jumping round putting on your trousers.”

“Or perhaps,” Rhys said as he turned to fix an accusing glare on her, “you imagined the whole thing.”

She drew in a disbelieving breath. “I did
not
! I heard him, Rhys. I saw him. He had a
gun
. I didn’t imagine that.”

“Yes, well then, where is he?” He pointed to the alarm panel. “The security system’s still armed, just as it was when I activated it earlier.” He opened the door and inspected the lock. “Look for yourself. There’s no sign of tampering, no scratches or marks on the paint.”

“Perhaps he came in through one of the windows.”

“What? A cat burglar, like Cary Grant in
To Catch a Thief
?” He closed the door. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She crossed her arms – with her evening gown bunched up underneath – against her chest. “I know what I saw. And I saw a man with a gun standing over us.”

“Perhaps you were dreaming. These old buildings settle and creak sometimes, you know.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She glared at him. “Aren’t you at least going to call the police?”

“And report what, exactly? A creaking floorboard? A ghost? Cary Grant?”

“Fine. Never mind.” Natalie turned away and stalked back to the living room. “Laugh at me if you want, but I’m telling you, someone was here. Take me back to the hotel right now. It may be a bit impersonal, and it’s not nearly so grand as this place, but at least it’s intruder-free.”

Holly eased the hotel room door open after returning from Chaz’s place and crept inside. She paused. The lamp on the hallway table was off, which meant that Jamie was probably already in bed and sleeping.

She slipped off her shoes and laid her clutch on the table, then made her way as quietly as possible to the tiny kitchenette. Holly yawned. A couple of cookies and some milk, and she’d be ready to tumble straight into bed for some well-deserved sleep—

“So how’s Chaz?”

Holly let out a gasp. Jamie sat on the sofa, his clogs discarded and his feet propped on the coffee table. “Jamie? What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” she demanded. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I just got home a little while ago. Thought I’d wait up to say hello, and goodnight.” His smile was lopsided and tired.

“You must be exhausted,” she said, and sat down beside him. She leaned forward to kiss him. “The party was a massive success, thanks in no small part to your menu. It was amazing.”

“Thanks. I do my best.” He drew her against him, kissing the top of her head. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” she observed as she nestled against him. “We were at the same function all night and didn’t speak to each other once.”

“Yes, it’s all very
Upstairs, Downstairs
, isn’t it? Your father doesn’t like the hired help mingling with the guests.”

Although she knew he was joking, Holly heard the edge in his voice. “I was working tonight, too,” she pointed out. “I’m a store employee, after all, so I was only there to jolly up the guests and flirt a bit with the investors.”

“You looked really sexy tonight.” His hand slid down her side and came to rest on her hip. “And you seemed to make quite the impression on Ciaran Duncan.”

She lifted her head. “Why do you say that?” And why was her heart suddenly beating a tiny bit faster?

He shrugged. “Every time I sent out a tray, one of the servers came back and told me they’d seen you both talking. Catherine said that Mr International Film Star scarcely took his eyes off you all evening.”

Catherine
. Holly pressed her lips together. Jamie’s new sous chef was probably only too glad to put the most damaging spin possible on her fledgling relationship with Ciaran.