Tall Poppies (8 page)

Two months into her job, the third month of pregnancy, Nina found herself stacking jars of baby applesauce. She froze as she stared at the label, showing a chubby baby with a gap-toothed smile. And she knew she’d changed her mind.

Nina wanted her child. No matter who the father was. She wanted someone to love. She wanted to take her to the park and buy her dolls and building bricks. She wanted to play with her. She wanted to give her all the joys, all the caring, that her own parents never bothered with. She knew it sounded selfish, but that was the way she felt.

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Come on, Nina, you have to be kidding, she lectured herself. What about college? You think you can work your way through college with a baby?

But what about college? That was unreal, that was another world. St Mike’s and Jeff’s world. This was life, earning a wage and making the rent. She could survive without a college degree. She looked again at the applesauce.

A baby would be family, and that would be worth anything.

It’s going to be tough, the nagging voice of reason warned her. But Nina had made UP her mind. Tough I’m used to.

Nina always remembered the day she told Frank. It was bitterly cold, freezing grey slush on the streets, gaudy Christmas decorations everywhere, Chanukah lights in a few windows, another New York winter. She found herself looking in toy stores, full of holly and kings and neon Santas, and wondering how she’d handle Christmas with her kid. The only thing she didn’t like about being Jewish was Christmas. There was no getting around it, Chanukah gifts couldn’t compete with the orgy of Christmas celebrations, food and trees and lights and cards and presents, bombarding you everywhere you went. You felt guilty as a kid for feeling so left out, because even if it was all about money, lots of Jewish parents scrupulously ignored the twenty-fifth. Hers had, for sure, although Nina was sure it was more to avoid spending any dough than for God.

She decided she’d just make a bigger deal of Chanukah. Her baby would have no cause to complain. That was when she knew for sure. ‘Frank, I got something to tell you.’

‘You’re leaving,’ Frank said anxiously. Nina had onl

been around a few months but it felt like for ever. He didn’t know how he’d get along without her.

‘No, but I hope you won’t be mad … I’ve decided to keep the baby.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ the old guy said. His face blossomed into a vast crinkly grin. ‘You’ll be a great mom. I guess I’m gonna have to give you a raise.’

He trundled over and hugged her. Nina almost wanted to cry. Nobody had given her such imple friendship for as long as she could remember.

Frank added, ‘I been thinking about giving you a share in the profits, anyway. Five per cent on top of your wages. Since we’re making some, these days.’

‘Oh, Frank,’ Nina said. She knew it wasn’t true, and maybe she ought to turn him down, but money was so tight, she couldn’t afford to. Frank Malone was a lonely man who felt paternal towards her, and she bad made a big difference in the store. ‘I shouldn’t,’ she said weakly.

‘Take it.’ Frank brushed aside her objections. ‘I got a cousin in Queens, a lawyer. Did my will. I’ll get him to draw up the paperwork.’

Nina hugged herself. Five per cent of one tiny store, hardly an empire. But it was something, it was her first step on the ladder. And Frank was a friend, and she was going to have a baby. The future wasn’t rosy, but perhaps it wasn’t so black either.

Three days later Frank Malone ‘had a stroke. He was rushed to hospital, but there was nothing the doctors could do. He died an hour later.

‘Nina Roth?’

Nina looked up from sweeping the floor as the door jangled. A tall, stocky man in a homburg and a black overcoat stepped into the store, ignoring the ‘Closed’

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sign. She frowned wearily; there was so much to do before the funeral, and nobody else to do it.

‘That’s right,’ she said, holding on to the broom in the

hope he’d take the hint, but the stranger didn’t budge. ‘I’m Connor Malone.’

‘Oh.’ Nina blushed, wiped her dusty hands on her apron and came forwards to shake his hand. Connor would be Frank’s son from Albany, the one he was always moaning never came to see him. Connor had a sister, Mary, in Texas and Nina hadn’t been expecting either of them so soon. She wished she’d been wearing something more appropriate than her tatty blue jeans and red checker shirt to meet her new boss. ‘Hi there. I’m so sorry about Frank, Mr Malone. He was always very good to me.’

She decided not even to mention the five per cent. Connor Malone wouldn’t believe her, she could tell that right away.

‘Yeah, he was a generous guy,’ Connor said vaguely, glancing around the shop. ‘He really pulled it together since the last time I was here.’

Nina couldn’t exactly say that it was mostly her doing, so she just nodded and smiled. ‘Green Earth is doing really well.’

‘That’s good, we’ll get a better price for it.’

Connor Malone was, an insurance salesman, used to sizing up assets, and he liked what he saw: great retail space, attractively laid out, nicely kept. He missed his pop but they hadn’t been close for years, whereas fifty per cent of this store would be a great” windfall for Cheryl and the kids. He was so pleased he missed the look of panic on the face of the small, dark-haired clerk in front of him.

‘You’re not going to sell, Mr Malone?’

Connor glanced at her. ‘Sure, who’d run this place now?’

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‘Why not me?’

‘I don’t think so.’ The salesman smiled politely. ‘OK, well, thanks for looking after the place till I got here, Miss Roth. I know you didn’t have a contract, but I’ll see you get a full month’s severance. That’s only fair.’

‘Mr Malone, don’t you think you should keep Green Earth open? It’s making a nice profit—’

‘But my father’s dead,’ Connor explained patiently. ‘Yes, sir, but I did all the book-keeping, I ran the promotions and ordered the stock. I could go right on doing that, and you could hire a junior to help me out.’

Malone looked at the earnest little face and almost laughed.

‘How old are you, honey, twenty-two?’

‘ Tm eighteen,’ Nina admitted.

‘Yeah? You look older … but still, I didn’t get where I am today by hiring teenage girls to take care of business, even pretty ones,’ he added with a laboured attempt at gallantry.

‘But I have been taking care of business,’ she protested. Connor Malone’s face lost some of its genial air.

‘Nice try, Nina, but no dice. Sorry. I’ll get you that cheque tomorrow.’

Nina didn’t attend the funeral. Instead she stayed back and organised what passed for an Irish wake, a restrained affair with a few glasses of Scotch and some tired sandwiches, which was what Connor thought appropriate. She worked methodically in the store before the guests came back, tidying the last few boxes of pills and bottles behind the counter. Connor would be pleased to see the place straight and somehow it seemed a better farewell to Frank than a bunch of flowers anyway. Nina buffed the mahogany counter until she could see her own face and tried to figure out what Frank would have advised her. First up, don’t panic.

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She leaned back against the empty shelves and took a deep breath. On her own again. Well, she’d been there before.

It was scary, but she did have some options this time. The local storekeepers knew her and a couple of them had been over making probing noises. Fatimah Resaid in the large grocery across the street had even offered her a job, so she wasn’t going to starve. But Nina had the baby to think of now. Even if it was frightening, she had to hold out for something better. A career with potential.

Mrs Minsky in the hairdresser’s opposite, who was fond of the grave, quiet kid who’d turned Frank Malone’s sorry little store around, had tried to do her a good turn just that morning. Abraham & Straus, the huge department store on Hoyt Street, ran a management trainee programme.

‘My niece’s husband works over there, he could put in a good word for ya,’ Mrs Minsky announced. ‘You got your pay, your benefits … that’s a real business, Nina, ya could go places with an outfit like that.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Minsky, I appreciate it,’ Nina said uncertainly.

‘What, ya don’t like Abraham and Straus? Ain’t it big enough for ya after the empire here?’ Mrs Minsky

snorted, waving her hands round the empty room. ‘It’s not that,’ Nina said.

‘Ya worked in retail, in a drugstore,’ Mrs Minsky pointed out. ‘Now the question is, where can that take ya? In the store business, in Brooklyn? A and S is the best there is, honey, think about it.’

When the mourners returned and pounced on the whisky and salmon, Nina was still thinking about it. By the time pompous young Connor took her aside and magnanimously announced he was adding one extra week to her severance pay, Nina had pretty much made up her mind.

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She was more interested in ‘drug’ than ‘store’. Abraham & Straus was glamorous, for Brooklyn; a retail career could lead to Saks and Bloomingdale’s, to pretty cosmetic counters and staff discounts on perfume. It would be fun and fashionable.

However, the real money was elsewhere. A year’s book-keeping had taught her the kind of cash that the prescription-drug companies made, despite lazy salesmen and lousy service. New York was hooked on its vitamins and minerals, its pills and potions, and it would stay that way. There were vast improvements needed in the pharmaceutical business. She’d been a customer and she knew it. Thinking about that gave her a little frisson of excitement.

‘ The drug business would be less diverting than a big retail store and much harder work, but it would provide better for her kid. As far as Nina was concerned, that was all that mattered.

Elizabeth arched her back under the caress of his tongue. Gerard’s grip was firm, one hand expertly brushing across her breasts, the other stroking between her legs as he moved down her spine. Her skin was hot and slippery, making her long, burnished hair damp around the forehead and dewing the chiselled outlines of her muscles. Gerard was so lost in lust for her incredible body he never noticed her eyes were closed. His own were fixed on the gilt-edged mirror opposite the bed, its ornate frame belying the wild scene it was reflecting. Silk sheets and pillows crumpled on the floor. A primrose satin Dior gown and evening suit flung casually over a chair. And Elizabeth’s firm body curving back against him, his cock pushing in and out of her … too hot to wait, Gerard felt himself speeding up, his breath coming

shorter, starting to thrust. He gasped.

“Chrie, chrie, je t’aime …”

She said nothing but he felt her press against his hand. In time to his thrusts, he brushed his fingertips lightly back and forwards, the way she liked it. She moaned, and his touch got faster. He felt his orgasm gathering, struggled to control it until he could make her come. Two strokes, two more, and then he pressed hard against her clitoris and heard her cry out, the flat of her stomach pulsing. Groaning with pleasure, Gerard exploded inside her and collapsed. They slumped back together on to the sheets.

Elizabeth panted as her climax subsided, coming out of

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her fantasy. For a few seconds she was dizzy, disorientated. Then she felt Gerard slip out of her and remove the condom, snapping her back to reality. The James Bond sex scene dissolved into her hotel suite, Sean Connery reverted to her boyfriend, and Moscow turned back to St Moritz.

‘You’re so beautiful, Elizabeth. ]e t’adore,’ Gerard murmured.

‘You were great, Gerard,’ Elizabeth said coolly. She could never reach a climax with Gerard without fantasis ing. Once the pleasure had ebbed, she found she always wanted to be alone. She wondered how to get him out of her suite without actually being rude.

‘You’ve worn me out, baby.’ Elizabeth stretched out as *though exhausted. ‘Better get back to your own room. I need some sleep before tomorrow, and if you stick around, I’ll be up all night.’

‘OK, sure. I understand. The races come first.’

He was too eager to please, pulling on his clothes right away. Elizabeth couldn’t stand that puppy-dog look. Gerard had seemed like he’d be different from Karl and Richard, but in the end they were all the same: knocked out by dating the famous Lady Elizabeth, society darling and starlet of the slopes.

‘Well, it is the World Cup.’

‘And you’ll go home with the title, cbrie, j’en suis sr.’ His enthusiasm annoyed her. Who did Gerard de Mesnil want to be with? Elizabeth, or the World Champion? She knew he’d be right at the bottom of the black run that plunged down from Diavolezza tomorrow, waiting to hug her for the cameras after the ladies’ downhill. It was boring. He was boring.

Elizabeth stirred restlessly. ‘See you tomorrow.’

“A demain.”

After Gerard left, Elizabeth got up from the bed and wandered into her bathroom, a fantasy of ivory and gold.

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he ran a bath, pouring a stream of expensive scented oil under the foaming taps. The fragrance of lavender and thyme filled the room and she willed herself to relax. The bathroom had a large window overlooking the lake, and as Elizabeth sank into the watei she could see the spires and turrets of the luxurious Palace Hotel, where her parents would be checking in tonight. For all she knew they might already have landed. Monica could be strolling through St Moritz right now, picking up some new toys at Cartier or an extra scarf at Hermes. Dad would have gone straight to the Corviglia, the most exclusive ski club in the world. Despite a total lack of interest in skiing, her parents had bought some equipment and joined last year, skipping the long waiting list. Lord Caerhaven was old money and head of Dragon plc.; cash and class. The Corviglia was just another open door.

Relations with her family had changed completely. When Elizabeth was offered a place on the British ski team, Tony agreed at once. Skiing was a frightfully pukka sport, almost as good as showjumping. They could talk about Elizabeth at dinner parties again.